Showstopper
by CinnyMon
Summary: There's been a murder in the police station, and Chris is the murder's next target. But not if Wesker has any say in it... Wesker x Chris, yaoi, abuse, Character Death.
1. And So We Begin

**Based on the urban legend, "Aren't You Glad You Didn't Turn on the Light?!"**

**A/N: **It really didn't mean to turn out this way…it just kind of…did…lol. So, as you can see from the description, this is a Wesker x Chris thing, but only in later chapters. So, enjoy now, yaoi later!

**Warning: **Character Death, language, gore, and later yaoi

**Pairing: **Wesker x Chris

**Disclaimer: **All characters and places used are property of Capcom. They are not mine.

**--**

It was late.

As Chris hurried across the dimly lit courtyard of the Raccoon City Police Department, he shivered. Not from the cold though. He shivered in anxiousness…it what seemed to be worry…

_You've _got_ to stop watching those horror movies with Barry; you dumb ass…_Chris mentally scolded himself. He played idly with the papers in his hands, wishing that he could get to the door faster and out of the sticky July night. The small pathway lights, erected in the flowerbeds, provided a small amount of light, but nowhere near enough for Chris to feel 'safe'. He had always had a childish fear of the dark.

Getting out of the courtyard, Chris followed the tan bricked walkway up to the RPD front door. He felt the anxious worry rise into his stomach and butterfly around, telling him to leave this place. The large motion sensing floodlights, mounted on both sides of the police station roof clicked on abruptly, making the brunette jump and nearly hyperventilate.

"Damn it Chris, you're not four!" he whispered firmly to himself, seizing the handle of the Department's door. Then, he paused. The worry was now gnawing at his innards, similar to how a lion would gnaw at its prey's bones. To appease his worry, he looked over his shoulder…

And, oh…_oh god_…there was a man, standing right there, on the RPD sidewalk, wearing a…trench coat? A long detective looking hat overshadowed his features. His hands were neatly tucked into his coat pockets and he was innocently tapping his toe on the walk. His form, basking in one of the few streetlights of Raccoon City, seemed to be oozing mystery and evil out of all of his pores. He nonchalantly waved at Chris and began to walk slowly away.

"Hey!" Chris yelled, spinning around. "Wait!"

But then, the S.T.A.R.S member blinked, and the trench-coated man was gone.

_Ohmigod, Ohmigod, Ohmigod _– Chris's mind was running in every different direction possible. His blue eyes widened and his breath quickened, but he was a S.T.A.R.S. member, and they weren't psyched out by anything. He just had to keep telling himself that…Slowly; Chris mentally began to count down from 100, an old meditation trick that his friend Jill had taught him, saying that it relieved stress and worry. He shut his eyes.

_Ninety-nine._ Breath.

_Ninety-eight. _Breath.

_Ninety-seven. _Breath.

_Ninety-six._ Breath.

_Ninety-five. _Breath.

_Ninety-four…_

Chris opened his eyes. No one was there – no animal, no cars, and_ no_ man in an ominous coat.

"I need to lay off the sugar," the man said to himself jokingly. He smiled at his own antics and grasped the door to the station once more, pulling it open.

As Chris disappeared into the station, a bush rustled, and a man in a tan trench coat laughed insanely.

--

The empty halls of the station echoed with every step Chris took.

My Jesus, can this be anymore freaked up? Chris thought to himself as he pushed open the door with large red letters that read AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY. Looking down at the papers in his sweaty palms, the brunette's mind began to wander. Easy, easy job Chris. All you have to do is put these papers in front of Vickers door and leave. Then you can stop freaking yourself out and go home and go to bed. Then you can pretend that this whole thing was just a…just a bad misunderstanding and that you didn't see a…gho-man in a long trench coat. Yeah, stupid me…ghosts don't exist… Chris laughed softly to himself.

He eyed all of the name plaques on the hickory colored doors as he passed them.

_Mine._

_Wesker's._

_Barry's._

_Forrest's._

_Ken's._

_Jill's._

_Joseph's._

Then, finally,

_Here it is…Brad's. _

Smiling to himself, Chris bent down to slide the papers under Brad (Chickenheart as Forrest enjoyed to call him) Vickers's door…when he herd…movement? From the other side. Chris glanced at the door handle timidly. His hand, against his mind's will, reached for the door. Slowly, he tried it…

It creaked open in an intimidating manner, as if beckoning Chris to come inside. Curiosity got the better of the S.T.A.R.S. member as he peeked his head into Vickers's office.

"Hello?" he murmured into the inky blackness.

Nothing.

Trying to listen, Chris couldn't even pick up a miniscule movement. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the man could see nothing out of the ordinary in Vickers's office – pictures, food wrappers, a poster, CD's, his computer…nothing abnormal.

Except for the body on the desk.

_OH GOD. That's…BRAD! _His mind screamed at himself to leave, to check on Vickers's, to call for help, to – The body moved up, then down…then up again, then down… He was breathing.

"Jesus, Vickers's you almost gave me…" Chris rolled his eyes, picking up the papers on the floor. Not wanting to disturb Brad's sleep, the brunette placed the forms on the desk, next to his head.

Brad whimpered in his sleep, "Nngh…C-Chris…"

Startled, Chris had to remind himself that his co-worker was merely having a bad dream and that he was in it. This was nothing serious.

Chris half-smirked. "Sleep tight, Vickers's. Don't let the bed bugs bite." And with that, he turned to leave, shutting the door behind him, leaving Brad in the ferociously choking darkness.

--

The next morning, Chris woke up to the shrill shrieking of his home phone. Groggy and disoriented, he fumbled out of bed – only in a pair of plaid boxers – and to his kitchen. As soon as he placed his hand on the phone, the ringing stopped and his annoying voicemail kicked in.

Hey, you've reached Chris. Clearly, I'm not –

"Hello?" Chris slurred into the phone.

"_Redfield." _

Recognizing the voice instantly, Chris cleared his throat. "Good morning, Captain Wesker. To what do I owe-"

"_No need for the formalities, Chris." _Wesker intruded,_" Please get to the station, ASAP."_

Chris narrowed his eyebrows, sensing a tone that was foreign to his blonde captain – fear, bordered with disgust and worry. "Yes sir!" he replied hastily.

"_Thank you…Chris…" _and with that, the conversation abruptly ended.

Gently returning the sleek, wireless phone to its cradle, Chris bolted for his room throwing on the first thing that he saw. A baggy, white wife-beater tucked into jeans with an orange sleeveless vest over the top and black ratty converse was Chris's ensemble. Not exactly 'uniform' at the RPD, but it would have to suffice until he had found out what had unnerved his usually calm captain.

Running back out of his room, Chris grabbed the keys to his Hyundai Sonata and an apple. He bit into the red fruit as he fled from the back door, locking it as he went. With lightning speed, the brunette leapt to his car and flew into the driver's seat.

With the station on his mind, Chris started up the car, revved the engine quite theatrically, and backed out of the driveway.

--

As he pulled into the police station Chris couldn't help but wonder why the hell there were so many cops on duty today. Then, the thought clicked in his brain…

_Something must have happened at the station. _He thought frantically. He navigated his black car towards the employee-parking garage as his mind raced to think of answers.

_Someone must have gotten hurt, someone must have had a medical emergency, someone's held hostage, someone's gone senile, someone's snapped, someone's dead…_ Chris pulled into a spot that read, RESERVED FOR ALPHA S.T.A.R.S. in bold lettering and killed the engine. Removing his keys, Chris exited his vehicle and let out a breath he was unsure he was holding.

Picking up the apple core in his cup holder, he shut and locked his car, running for the station.

--

Inside the station, Chris was in awe.

Forensic scientists littered the halls of the RPD like cockroaches along with news reporters from almost every local station.

"Chris!"

The man turned to see Barry waving him over with one bear like hand. Jogging with a nervous smile, Chris approached his bearded friend.

"What's up, man?" he mumbled, looking at all of the people in the usually quiet station.

"Were you in the station last night, Chris?" Barry said, cutting to the chase.

"Um…yeah…why?" Chris ran a hand through his un-brushed bed head.

"Oh Christ…" The man said, sloppily stroking his red-ish beard.

"Is something the matter?" The small brunette stuttered.

Barry roughly seized Chris's upper arms, forcing the two men to lock eyes. "You weren't in Vickers's office…were you, kid?"

"Yeah, I was!" Chris cried out as Barry tightened his hold.

"What was going on when you were here? Anything unusual? Any suspicious people?" he growled.

"Brad was sleeping. I was just dropping off mission papers to him…And, I saw a dude in a trench coat outside of the station." Chris said, unhappily squirming. "Let go of me, please!"

"He didn't do anything to you, and you didn't turn on any lights, _right_?" Barry demanded.

"No! NO! I didn't, now let me go!" Chris whined.

"Barry." a cool yet exhausted voice snapped. "Release him. He's safe. He's okay."

Reluctantly, Barry did as he was told. "Yes, Captain Wesker." he said, dropping his hands.

Giving Chris a once-over, Barry sheepishly smiled, "Sorry if they bruise, kid." he said, referring to Chris's arms. "I just…had to make sure that it wouldn't happen to you too…"

"What happened to me?" Chris asked, confused.

"Chris," Wesker appeared next to the brunette, lightly squeezing his shoulder in support. "Brad Vickers's is dead."

--

DUN, DUN, DAH! A cliffhanger, oh noes!

**Reviewing makes me a happy Mexican Jumping Bean!**

_Chapter 2 soon!_


	2. Message

Thank you for Chaos0283's review._  
__He was the only on though…_ So you all better review on this chapter!!Disclaimers and Warnings have not changed since the first chapter people!!!  
Enjoy

--

Chris softly gasped, throwing a hand over his mouth. He suddenly felt as if the air had been forcibly sucked from his body. His heart raced inside his chest, pounding and beating at his ribcage. His light eyes widened considerably as they began to water, but Chris refused to cry, he was stronger than that.

_But are you strong enough to defend yourself against whatever happened to Vickers?_ He thought to himself.

"W-what?" was all he could stammer out.

"We have reason to believe that whoever did this is targeting you next." Barry imputed.

"How? Why?" The smallest Alpha team member asked confused. His gaze shifted frantically between the two men.

"Well…" Wesker sighed, glancing over at Barry for help.

"We can't exactly…explain…it. You need to see it to believe it," said Barry, taking the hint from his superior.

"Come, Chris…" Wesker said, brusquely turning away from the two. Barry clapped one burly hand onto the brunette's shoulder, encouraging the man to follow the S.T.A.R.S. captain.

"Let's go, kid." He encouraged, though it did little to ease Chris's nerves.

Wesker easily slid into the crowd of news reporters, ignoring them as they whored themselves over him, asking for a moment of his time. Wesker turned a blind eye to the majority of them, or simply muttered "No comment." as he ghosted by. Chris however, had less luck, unsure of what to do with the pesky reporters.

"Mr. Redfield!" _-How do they know my name? –_ "A moment of your time, please!" An Asian woman crowed at Chris, reaching out to clasp his sweaty, nervous hands. Chris opened his mouth and-

"He's busy." Barry said forcefully, practically shoving Chris at Wesker. Fumbling over his own two feet, Chris hardly managed to steady himself before his commander was hounding him again.

"Chris, hurry." his commanding tone told Chris that he wasn't playing around anymore. Not that he was to begin with…but still…

"Yeah!" he rushed to his superior's side, Barry close at hand, and Wesker continued on.

"Now, Chris, what you're going to see…isn't pleasant." Barry paused, thinking of what he wanted to say next, then spoke, Are you sure you want to go through with seeing Vickers? More importantly, are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Chris responded, wishing that he were feeling as cocky as he sounded.

Wesker wryly smiled to himself, but said nothing. He turned down a narrow corridor, walking past the doors of the other S.T.A.R.S. members offices, some of who were in groups and idly chitchatting amongst there selves, no doubt about Brad's murder. Chris stole a quick glance at Jill's office door, which was shut, and then threw one at Joseph's door, which was open and he was talking to Forrest and Ken.

_So, the murder happened…in his office?_ Chris wondered, his mind quickly flashing back to the events of last night. Suddenly feeling queasy, Chris had now pieced everything together…he really wasn't-

"He…I mean, his body, is in here." Wesker said, ushering Chris into Vickers's office. They stopped in front of the open office, which was bustling with a team of forensic scientists, and Chris had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

"Oh…no…" was all that he managed, anything else, and his voice would give out on him. His mind was reeling in a million different directions at once, trying to grasp the concept that the dead flesh before him _was _BradVickers_._ Well, it must have been…at one point.

The quiet and well-mannered man was hanging from the ceiling by a piece of, what looked to be, leather, which was tied to the room's fan. The corners of his mouth, with black thread (or was it again, leather?), were sewn into the bottoms of his eyes, so that even in death, he was eternally smiling. Blood looked like it was painted on underneath his eyes, but Chris knew that it was from the sewing. The rest of his body, his clothes mainly, was next to shredded, letting the brunette know that his clothes were probably hiding more blood. His fingers were, by the looks of it, viciously hacked off, leaving still slightly bleeding stubs.

"I could've, no…damn it!" he cursed loudly, laying eyes on his comrade.

"Unfortunately, you haven't seen it all." a blonde woman with a camera, no doubt a forensic, said. She snapped another picture and stood up from her crouch. Quietly, she made her way to the door, muttered something to Wesker and Barry to make them move, then shut the door.

"See?" she said.

But how could he _not _see it? It was all over the door, dripping down it, the blood still not fully dried. Written in blood, in Brad's blood, was one single word.

CHRIS.

There was nothing else, simply his name in one of his friend's blood. Chris stared on in a dumbfounded, disgusted sort of awe until the door opened.

"Chris…?" Barry poked his head in, looking remorsefully at his young pal. Chris made no response and simply stared on to where the massage was, its horrible imagery burning itself permanently into his retinas.

The red-ish brunette, Barry, stepped into the office and was trailed by Wesker. Barry tried again to talk to him, "Kid? Hey, you're scarein' me. Talk."

The big man waved a hand in front of Chris's face, still not getting an answer. Wesker placed a hand on the man's shoulder, finally earning a surprised-like jump.

"S-sorry…" he said softly, his muddled state of mind gone.

"Are you okay?" Wesker asked.

Chris nodded, choosing not to respond. He faked a yawn and rubbed his arms, attempting to feign being cold.

"I just wanna go home," he said finally. "Really badly."

Wesker hummed and made a long drawn out sigh, "Well, I'd have to protest. I don't want you going somewhere alone, incase the murderer decides to jump you."

"Could I stay with someone, then?" he asked hopefully.

"Well that looks like your only choice." Barry drawled sarcastically.

Chris shot the man a mock-glare, not really meaning it. "Looks like it." he agreed.

"But whom?" Wesker questioned.

"He could stay with me." Barry said.

"I guess so, but do you really want to risk putting your girls in danger for me?" Chris asked dejectedly. He really was being a burden to everyone around him, especially if a brutal and rouge murderer was after his head.

Barry made a noise of disapproval, but said nothing, silently agreeing with Chris.

"Then, you could stay with me…" Wesker said slowly, "After all, I don't have anyone to endanger at my house, besides me, and the murderer would have to go through me to get to you, which is…unlikely."

Chris stared in disbelief at his superior. Him? Rooming with Wesker? That was like asking someone if they had six arms – extremely unusual.

"Well?" the blonde asked, adjusting his sunglasses.

Rigidly, Chris nodded. "O-okay…" he said, warming up to the idea.

"Congrats then, because you're officially my new room mate." said Wesker.

Chris and Barry looked at one another, and vaguely, Chris wondered what he had gotten himself into.

**--**

**Review pleazums!!**


	3. More than One?

**Disclaimers have stayed the same.**

Thank you for all the people that have reviewed.

_They are all love!!_

--

The days that followed the eerie message and Brad Vickers's death were, uneventful, to say the least. Things mainly were played out like this; Chris moved his things, little by little into Wesker's apartment, they went to work, the two came home, Chris cooked (because he had found out that Wesker, though a brilliant man, could not cook for shit), and then the two went to bed – Chris in a guest bedroom of Wesker's.

Rather boring, in Chris's opinion. Especially since there had been no more clues uncovered on Brad's body, or anywhere else. They were no closer to uncovering the murderer then they were almost a week ago.

The brunette heavily sighed. Honestly, he wished that the murder would just show his or her face so that he could pop a bullet in that bastard's skull.

"Chris, can you help me with this?" Jill said, holding up a stack of papers.

Chris nodded, silently rising from his desk. Jill left his office while Chris nimbly followed. The murder had turned Chris from a skilled field agent to a simple paper-pusher. Complete fun, if you liked sitting for hours on end and getting carpal tunnel in your writing hand. And in your ass.

Following the shorthaired girl into her office, Chris grabbed a chair behind her and pulled it up backwards so that the backing of the chair was touching the desk. He straddled it lazily and draped his arms over the backing of the wooden object, just ever so slightly to the point where he could write and do practically nothing at the same time. Hurray.

"So," Chris muttered, flinching as Jill slammed the papers onto the desk with a brutal force. "What are we, you, working on exactly?"

"Mission statements." she said simply.

"So I've gathered…" Chris glanced at the papers briefly, "What mission?"

"Mafia mission. Didn't you hear?" Jill asked, shaking her head. "It was a big deal up until Chicken Heart's death. One of the bigger cases, I'd say, but a past big case."

"Really now?" Chris's eyebrows jumped enthusiastically. A mafia in Raccoon was news to him.

"Really now." she said back, enjoying teasing him.

"I've…never heard of this," he whispered, seizing the papers that Jill had laid down.

He quickly read through them, only breezing through the fine prints and the bold headings. The bolded words – murders, rape, gunfight, and illicit activities – they were only some of the few that glued themselves to Chris's self-conscious.

"It's not surprising, only a selected few were assigned to the mission." Jill commented. She held out her hand expectedly and Chris forked over the mafia papers.

"Basically," she cleared her throat. "They call themselves the "Cooners" a cute little way of putting-"

"Raccoon," Chris interrupted. "Yeah."

"Anyways, their files were put away for a while. Nobody could accurately track the Cooners, so, they eventually the police just gave up and then, and the Cooners stopped. Just like that." Jill said, snapping her fingers. She sat on top of her desk, which protested with a little groan, and shortened the space between herself and Chris. "The only reasons their files are out again are because they're on the possible suspects list."

"Anyone else?" he asked.

"Our options are limited. It's either your trench coat man, which doesn't help since we don't know his identity, or the mafia which also doesn't help since we can't locate them." Exasperated, Jill shut her eyes.

"And I'm stuck with trying to figure out where the mafia might be." She then said to Chris as an afterthought, "Well, not just me."

"Who else?"

Jill softly spoke, "Barry, Forrest, Joseph, and some kid name Robert."

"Why not me?" he said, a little hurt. "I could help…"

"I know, I was thinking the same thing." she opened her eyes and stared at Chris intently.

"You've been real limited recently, haven't you?" she said, trailing off topic.

Chris nodded. "But then again, I have a killer after me so I guess it's for my protection."

"Sure, protection." Jill scoffed.

Chris stared at her warily, "What do you mean by that?"

"You've been practically caged in here since…_his_ death…wouldn't it only be sensible to get you to a safer place? We know that the murderer has some connection to the RPD, and an easy way to get in at that. If we know all this, and still have you sitting here, then shouldn't we just staple a sign to your forehead that says, "SHOOT ME" in all capitals?" Jill spoke, obliviously thinking the whole scenario through.

Chris had nothing to say to that. His jaw tightened as he cast his eyes downwards, glaring at his hands.

"What if…the murder is someone here in the RPD?" she asked. "What would happen then?"

Chris rose suddenly, and placed a hand to his stomach, "You know, I'm not feeling so hot…I think I'm gonna go home…"

"There's a thought." Jill said, deciding not to go back to her second proposition and pester Chris over it.

"Bye, good luck with the work." Chris said and left.

Then, something dawned on Jill, "Hey you ass!" she yelled running to her door and glaring at Chris's retreating form. "You skimped out on helping me with the work!"

Chris merely smirked to himself.

--

When he got home, Chris had two aspirin tablets and lied down on Wesker's couch. He really wasn't lying about not feeling well. When Jill had started breaking things down for him, he had started to internally worry, and when he worried a stomachache soon pursued. Now, his stomach was doing backhand springs and front flips as he mulled over Jill's ideas.

"_What if it's someone in the RPD? What would you do then?"_

What _would_ he do then? Sighing, the brunette got up and trekked to get a blanket from the front hall closet. Deciding on a plump and plushy, moss green, down blanket, Chris returned to his post on the couch, stealing the remote as he went.

Flipping on the TV, Chris looked at the clock. It was only 3:15 and his shift wasn't going to end until six. Wesker's wouldn't end till 7:30, poor guy. Cuddling into the blanket, Chris had recently decided that living with Wesker wasn't so bad. Especially if all he had to do was cook for the man and he didn't even have to pay board.

He began to flip the channels. He then scoffed a moment later, deciding that daytime television was _so_ boring. Now he wasn't feeling good and there was nothing to do.

Quickly becoming annoyed at the box, Chris shut off the thing and discarded the remote on the floor. The pillow that he was using suddenly felt oh so comfy, the blanket placid and warm, and his eyes, a bit heavy.

Thinking of Jill, and then for some reason of Wesker, Chris fell asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes.

_A faceless man loomed over Chris, a knife clad in one hand. _

"_Chris…now everyone's dead, and it's all your fault. YOUR FAULT!" the person screamed in an androgynous voice. _

"_NO!" Chris yelled back._

"_You've made me kill them, Chris."_

_The black shape, the knife-wielding figure, moved to reveal Chris's neatly dissected friends. Even Claire's body lay amongst them. Altogether, there was Claire, Barry, Jill, Rebecca, Joseph, and Wesker. _

"_Everyone's dead, everyone's dead," the voice sang happily. _

"_No…" Chris whimpered, suddenly frightened. This was going to be the end for him. His final curtain. His last bow…_

_The knife rose up and then descended rapidly, slicing Chris's chest like rice paper. This was all that he was to the killer, mere paper. His soul purpose? To be shredded._

"_Don't worry though, you'll see them soon…" the voice murmured, reassuringly. _

_Chris attempted to scream, but was stopped as the knife nested itself into Chris's abdomen. Pain gnawed at his flesh and white bubbles popped in his eyes, obscuring his vision. _

"_But Chris, will they really want to see you?"_

_The knife was removed slowly, in a devious attempt to cause even more pain to the suffering man, and then ascended again to strike._

"_Will they?"_

_It came down.  
_

"_Hunh, Chris?"_

_And then again._

"_WILL THEY CHRIS?"_

_And again.  
_

"_CHRIS?"_

_Again._

"CHRIS!!"

Chris screamed and lunged for his attacker. He swung his fists blindly, hoping to hit something and feeling quite satisfied as his hands connected with something. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" He shrieked, pounding away at his attacker.

"Redfield, stop it NOW!"

That commanding voice, it only could belong to…

"Captain!" Chris yelled, shocked. He had unrightfully attacked his captain, and on top of that, smashed his sunglasses and given him a black eye. If the captain had any doubts about allowing Chris to stay at his home, this would more than likely the deciding factor of staying or getting kicked out.

"Oh god, I'm _so _sorry." the brunette breathed out softly.

Chris assessed the situation quickly; he was straddling his commander (his very _male_ commander) and had a death grip on his well-developed biceps. This was the epitome of an "Oh snap" moment.

"Sorry," he said again, completely embarrassed.

Getting off Wesker, he rose, only to cocoon himself in the green blanket and flop back down on the couch. Even though he had slept awhile – he could tell this because of the fact that Wesker was home – his eyes still felt heavy and sore, his stomach not fairing much better.

Slowly, Wesker asked a question that Chris feared would come up, "What's wrong?"

Knowing that the infamous "Nothing!" excuse wouldn't work on the man, Chris simply said a portion of the truth.

"I'm not feeling too good."

"Are you now…" he said, standing up. Wesker raised a pale hand to Chris's forehead, holding it there for a moment as Chris profusely blushed.

"No wonder, you're burning up."

"Really?" Chris asked incredulously. He knew that he didn't feel good, but he didn't know that he was actually sick. _Great, _Chris thought to himself reminiscing on Jill's words, _now I really am a sitting duck._

"Yeah," He said turning to leave. "I'll go get you some soup." –_Oh crap, he's going to cook? – _"And don't worry, it's the microwave kind so I'm not infecting you with food poisoning as well."

"Thank you," Chris said softly, "oh, and sir-"

"Call me Wesker. If you're not at the station, you don't need to address me as such."

"O-okay then, Wesker, I'm really sorry about your eye. Really, really-"

"I get it, Chris. You're sorry. Don't fret over it, if I'm not dead, then it's not an issue."

This caused Chris to snort with laughter, "I'll try to remember that, s- I mean, Wesker."

The blonde began to walk towards the kitchen, but then paused. Holding one hand to the doorframe, his back still to the brunette, he seemed to be debating something with himself. Finally, he said something, something that Chris didn't want to hear in a million years.

"There's been another murder."

--

**Here's the situation, I'm gonna be **_**real**_** busy next weekend (I've decided on updating once every Saturday, isn't that cute?) and I thought, since you're all such kind readers, that you deserved the next chapter.**

Reviews fuel the speed of writing!! 


	4. Darkness Dwells

Wow, I never expected the story to get this popular! You guys rock the Casbah, seriously, you do.

Here's Chapter 4!

**Note; yes, I did make up the Charlie and Delta teams, but Charlie and Delta (along with Alpha and Bravo) are military terminology, so I thought I'd stick with the theme. They also play a role in the whole plot so, commit their teams to memory. They'll be, more than likely, a bunch of OC's, but who knows, I might just throw a real character or two in there to…stir things up… 3**

**Also, this chapter contains boy/boy (only kissing!) and really…doesn't pertain all that much to the plot. Just bits and pieces here and there…anyways…READ!!**

Disclaimer is still the same

--

"Another murder?!" Chris screeched. Brad had been bad enough, but another one dead?

"Afraid so…that's why I'm home so late." said Albert.

"Late…?" Chris glanced to the clock, which chimed affectionately, saying that it was now nine o' clock.

"Oh." he said, "Who?"

"Richard Aiken." Wesker said sadly.

"No…not Rich…" Richard Aiken had been one of the best hackers that the RPD had to offer. First Vickers, now Aike-

"Wait." The brunette said, a thought blooming in his mind, "R-Richard…he was Bravo's tech guy…right? And Vickers was ours…" he trailed off.

"Brilliant." breathed Wesker. He was getting what Chris was coming on to as well.

"So," the sick man continued, "If the Alpha hacker, then the Bravo hacker, the Charlie team's hacker must be next…then, it'd be Delta's hacker. Who knows who comes after that, but maybe, maybe they knew something that we don't…or didn't, and _that's _why they're…dead."

Wesker remained silent, though he turned around to face Chris, "You truly _are_ brilliant, you do realize that, right?" he said.

Chris flushed a vivid pink, "Thank you." He squeaked in an unmanly tone.

"I need to use the phone," Albert said, and then bolted.

Feeling a sense of empty pride, Chris stared at his hands. They were fat and ugly in his eyes, along with the rest of his body in his mind, and these two digits touched a dying man and ignored his pleas to be saved. Now, another friend was murdered and he was the cause, _he was the damned cause_. His blood began to boil as he glared at his wiggling fingers. If only he had never been born, then, he wouldn't have to be responsible for the killings and for the suffering that Brad and Richard's families were probably going through right now.

_You can end the pain though…_ a sinister voice cooed in his ear.

"No…" Chris murmured. He wouldn't resort to…_that_…he hadn't done that since his mother had died from that freak car crash. What he had done to his arms had worried Claire so much that she invested in therapy for Chris, which much to his disgust, worked and wasn't that bad.

Do it…Do it…

"No!" Chris yelled.

Wesker came rushing into the living room, wielding a cutting knife. He surveyed the room, and then glanced quizzically at Chris.

"I heard you – never mind. Are you okay?" the blonde asked.

Chris chose not to answer, instead glancing at the knife, and switching topics, "A knife?"

"I thought that you were in trouble." Wesker admitted sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Sorry…" Chris said. He half-smiled, then glanced back to his hands, a blank expression overtaking his face.

Wesker sat down next to Chris on the couch. "You're blaming yourself, aren't you?" he asked.

"I-ah-uh…" Chris couldn't decide on what excuse to throw at Wesker. Wesker had hit the nail hard and accurately on the head, and there was no jive talking out of this one, besides lying through his teeth.

"No," he finally decided on saying.

Wesker immediately did something out of character; he hugged Chris.

"You are, I can see it in your eyes." he whispered into Chris's ear.

Something inside of Chris's head snapped unleashing an emotional, angry, beast.

"Yes! Yes I'm blaming myself okay!?" Chris cried, shoving Wesker away from him. "Brad's dead, and it's all my fault. Now Richard's dead, and you know what, the killings aren't going to stop! No, they're not!"

Pushing himself off the couch, Chris stood, glaring Wesker right into his blue eyes, "They're not going to stop until I'm dead! And you know what, _captain_? Maybe I should just kill myself now to spare everyone else! Yeah, you know what-"

Chris snatched the carving knife out of Wesker's hands and slid it quickly across one wrist.

"No! Stop it!" Wesker leapt from the couch and practically tackled Chris. The two were on the floor, wrestling one another, Wesker trying to pry the knife from Chris's hands.

"Just let me die!" he screamed, shaking his head harshly.

"Quit being a child Christopher!" The Alpha captain snapped.

A feral growl was torn from Chris's lips as the knife was wrenched out of his hands. "God damn it!" he yelled.

Pinning the brunette's arms down with his legs and then sitting on Chris's lower half, Wesker glared at his subordinate.

"Don't you dare try to even…" Wesker couldn't bring himself to say it, "If you _ever,_ EVER, give me reason to think that you'll do that again, I'll suspend you permanently and throw your ass into counseling Christopher Redfield. You're too valuable of an asset to the Raccoon STARS, a great friend, and an upstanding older brother to even consider killing yourself."

Chris lay under his commander, panting from their wrestling match, his face stained pink. All he could manage was a simple nod, before Wesker smashed his lips onto his own. Startled, Chris froze. One moment, the blonde was furious, the next he was kissing…Chris understood none of his logic.

_He is a good kisser though,_ Chris thought, his anger subsiding. He passionately responded to the kiss, the two fighting each other for dominance, with Wesker coming out on top. Tears ebbed from Chris's brown eyes as the kiss deepened, then cut off.

"Chris?"

"Thank you, thank you," he murmured.

"Just…please, never scare me like that again, ever." Then after a moment, Wesker followed up his words with, "I really thought that you were going to kill yourself."

"I thought I was too…" Chris whispered, in a dream like daze. Everything had happened so fast…

"Wesker?"

"Hunh?"

"Would you please…uh…kiss me…again?"

With a smirk that held no malice, Wesker kissed Chris again, this time much softer and with much more love backing such action. After a moment, they broke for air. The room was ultimately silent. Until…

"Achoo!" Chris sneezed and Wesker grimaced.

"Eww," he teased, "Now you're going to get me sick."

Chris laughed, "How bout that soup now?"

--

Leon hissed in pain as he attempted to sit up. His arms could only support him for a brief second before he came crashing down onto the cold cement floor, and his broken rib. Screaming in agony, he curled up into a ball. He wished that his captor would just let him die…death would be a godsend in a moment like this…

A door creaked open, signaling that _he_ was back, and Leon quaked in the corner of his cell.

Footsteps.

Echoes.

Silence.

Then the door to his holding room flew open and-

"Hello again, Leon. How I've missed you." the voice simpered.

"No more…please…" he begged, shivering as cool air swept into the cell. The lack of clothes also attributed to the fact of being cold as well…

"Oh, but Leon, we're going to have so much fun," and a grin spread on the shadow's face. "Ever so much fun…"

--

**You all can argue that I made Chris too OOC, but I've actually witnessed an emotional breakdown like this, and let me tell you, one, it's not pretty, and two, people tend to act MUCHO DIFFERENCIO when they're going through this. Then they go back to normal when they calm down.**

I actually had time in History to finish this, but to finish 5 this week will be a stretch…Oh and also, screw the only update on Saturday thing, I can't wait that long to update, and I know you can't, so you get them hot off of being typed.

_Reviews are cookies._

_Cookies are fat._

_I made a poem._

_Would you look at that?_

REVIEW PLEASE!!


	5. And So We Continue

**Wow, I actually got flames. Really now, was a harmless kissing scene that bad? I even warned you guys…apparently, some people don't read while reading fanfiction. Which makes no sense, which is exactly how I'm feeling, knowing that I got flames.**

Anyways.

The last chapter will be more than likely pulled aside for beta. Hope you read the chapter, and thank you for all of those who kindly reviewed. By the way, Chaos, I'm not counting your review as a flame, because you didn't do anything wrong…some people on the other hand…

**  
Disclaimer is the same.**

--

Wesker and Chris had hardly spoken since their little family room incident. Only simple "Please," and "Thank you," word were uttered, along with the occasional "Excuse me," or greetings. Chris refused to forget, and Wesker refused to acknowledge the fact, and it was as simple as that.

In the days that followed the incident, as Chris had predicted, the Charlie Team's hacker, Ingrid Hunnigan, had been killed in her apartment along with her sister (who specialized in computers for the government) April Hunnigan. To follow that up, a young cop by the name of Leon Kennedy had gone missing, and was presumed dead, though a search party was still out for his body.

"So, the slaughter house continues, hunh?" Forest asked, playing with the bandanna on his forehead.

Chris numbly nodded, looking at pictures of the two dead Hunnigan sisters, Vickers, and Aiken. All of the messages had been the same, all reading CHRIS, except for April Hunnigan's message which read IR in permanent marker.

'Chris' and 'IR'.

What could the two possibly mean by that?

"Hey, Chris?"

"Yeah, Forest?"

"Well, do you think the Delta team's hacker is next?" he asked, leaning on Chris's desk.

"Absolutely. And we should protect her at all costs, no matter what." Chris said firmly. He wanted the killer behind bars, and he wanted to save another innocent from being harmed, because this time, maybe he had a fighting chance.

"What…I mean, who do you think is behind this?" the man said, adjusting his red bandanna.

Chris shrugged and put the photographs back into the manila folder that he had borrowed from Ken Sullivan, earlier that day.

"I really can't say. Maybe the mafia, though why they'd have a vendetta on my skull is beyond me."

"Really now?" Forest said, grinning from ear to ear. "'Cuz I think that it's Wesker…"

This shocked Chris, "Him?" the brunette cleared his throat, "Why him?"

"Well, think about it, who has access to the RPD at night? Who knew Vickers, Aiken, and Hunnigan? Whose name was on the wall, and who jumped at letting you stay at his house?" Forest sighed.

"What is this, a conspiracy?" Chris yelled in mock-anger. "First Jill, and now you!"

"Jill?"

"Yeah, she thought that it was someone from the RPD too…and then you go proposing that it's Wesker." Chris took a breath, "I'd just watch what you go around saying, because guess who has the power to get you fired?"

Forest sarcastically quaked, "Oh no!"

Chris Charlie Horsed the poor and unaware man, making him yelp in pain. Forest stuck his tongue out at Chris childishly, and blew him a raspberry.

"Fine then!" he said at Chris, trying not to laugh, "I'll just leave you to wallow in silence!"

"Finally!" Chris teased, "I never thought you'd say that!"

Forest "Hmph"-ed and, true to his word, left Chris's office.

"At last, I can get some paperwork done…" he said, not really meaning it. Having Forest around was a good scapegoat for not doing his work. Many RDP workers got off nowadays for not doing work, due to the fact that just about everybody was on the 'Face Case', as it was lovingly referred to. Face, because of the fact of what happened to all four of the victim's faces, a thought that Chris would not like to think about.

Shuddering involuntarily, Chris reopened Ken's files.

He pulled out the pictures, and lined them up, one by one in order of death.

Brad Vickers.

Richard Aiken

Ingrid Hunnigan

April Hunnigan

Chris fumbled with Ingrid and April's death, unsure of who really died first. So, finally the list was rewritten, with photos, like this,

Brad Vickers.

Richard Aiken

April Hunnigan

Ingrid Hunnigan

Either of the lists worked, not that it really mattered, but what did matter was trying to find a motive. Why would the killer put "CHRIS" on the walls, if the person only insisted on killing people around Chris? What purpose would that serve? Unless the killer had a sadistic side, which Chris didn't doubt, the man (or woman) was merely screwing with his head.

Slowly, Chris wrote the names of the deceased on a piece of loose-leaf paper that was strewn on his desk. After it, he wrote "IR" in quotes. Maybe if he looked at it from a different angle…

Suddenly, something hit Chris like a freight truck. If he arranged the deaths like this…

**B**rad Vickers.

**R**ichard Aiken

**I**ngrid Hunnigan

**A**pril Hunnigan

Then added and R after April's name…

**B**rad Vickers.

**R**ichard Aiken

**I**ngrid Hunnigan

**A**pril Hunnigan

**R**

**BRIAR**.

That's what the message spelled. There was no use in using the other I…Maybe April forgot that her sister's name started with an I…she must of known of the previous murders, because that was the only sensible solution…

But still…it said briar, as in a briar patch of roses. Did this mean that the killer's daytime profession was a gardener? Maybe he or she was a botanist, or a florist…

The possibilities were endless, and none of them mattered at the moment, merely getting them to the Alpha research squad did, and maybe Wesker too.

Chris took off out of the room, in a desperate search to tell someone the new news.

--

**Short, but is it a clue?**

Do you know who the murder is?

If you don't, review, and keep on reading!


	6. BRIAR?

Disclaimer is the same as it was in Chapter 1

Thank you for all that have reviewed, and not flamed.

Also, I'm going by S.D. Perry's rendition of the book, where **Raccoon City is in** **Pennsylvania.**

--

"We're here." Wesker said simply, killing the engine of the classic police department cruiser.

Within the time span of an hour, Chris found himself staring at the gates of the PSBG, the Pennsylvania State Botanical Gardens, oddly enough, located on the outskirts of town. With ease, Chris and Jill exited from the backseat of the RPD vehicle, while Wesker emerged from the front, and Rebecca Chambers from the passenger side door.

"Plants." Rebecca said with a simple smile. "It's sad to see that such beautiful things are going to be gone soon…"

"Hunh?" Jill asked.

Rebecca pointed to a cardboard "Going Out Of Business" sign in the botanical garden's front window. Chris exhaled…god was this nerve-wracking…

The four STARS members walked slowly to the botanical center, with another car pulling up behind them. It was the car that Barry, Forest, Ken, Joseph, and a Charlie team member named Nina Collins. Their car was slightly bigger than the car that Chris took, and seeing as though Nina was an expert forensic who also had STARS training, they had brought her along. The Indian girl looked out of place amongst the four burly men that she had exited the car with, so she took her place in front of Rebecca but behind Jill in the line to the PSBG.

Chris spared a glance at Wesker, who he found, was staring at him. The gaze was kept for a few seconds, before the blonde looked away, and at the Victorian England, wrought iron gate.

" Is everyone armed?" he asked, wringing his hands. No emotion was portrayed on his unreadable face, but Chris could sense that the captain was nervous. Hell, Chris, he was nervous – they were, possibly, going to confront a deranged and psychotic killer who was after Redfield Blood.

Eight heads nodded, each fingering their own concealed gun – Nina, an 1860 Colt, Barry, his classic Colt Python, and Chris, a new and spiffy .

"Good, lets go." Wesker nodded to the clan.

They pushed aside the gate, entering the outside garden. Lush tulips and daffodils swayed in the cool August air, dangling to caress the grass in front of them. Multicolored stones lined the dirt that housed the flowers, many of the rocks appeared to be painted by children, for there were misspelled messages and sloppy smiley faces and people.

"Cute…" Nina commented, gazing at the rocks.

"Yeah," Jill replied, and Rebecca giggled.

Barry reached the glass doors – the whole building was a giant greenhouse, at lease that's what it appeared to be – and wrenched them open.

"After you," he said, being a gentleman for Nina, Jill, and Rebecca. Nina spared a small smile to the man, unaware that it would be the last smile, she'd ever have.

--

Two and half hours later, and one tour of the botanical garden later, Chris decided that maybe the clue of **BRIAR** was all wrong. After explaining to the flustered, obese hippie of a man who ran the place, why exactly they were here, he had promptly shut himself in his office and told the STARS that they could have the whole garden to their selves.

"This was a load of bull," Chris muttered dryly, surveying the briar patch for what seemed to be the fiftieth time.

"Just keep looking Chris." Wesker commanded, not taking his eyes off a beautiful yellow rose. The blonde seemed to be dozing whilst he stood…

"Are you okay?" Chris trekked out of the flowers to his commander.

Not responding, Wesker positively waved Chris off. Chris moved closer though, now standing in the same floral bed as his captain.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked to the blonde, bending down to observe the soil. The two were alone in a secluded area of the botanical center, trees and vines draping over the duo, shielding them from all vision. Chris figured that if Wesker had something to get off of his chest, then he should do it while they were alone – and what better time than now?

"Avoiding?" Wesker looked at Chris, playing dumb.

"Yeah, avoiding. Ever since you…_kissed_ me…you've been acting differently." Plucking a daisy, Chris twirled it idly in his fingers.

"Different you say?"

"Yep. Different."

"I fail to see how." Wesker said, moving away from the brunette.

"Well I don't." Chris said, annoyed. Wesker was totally playing with his emotions now. It was starting to piss Chris off…

"You won't talk to me in the staff meetings, you wouldn't talk to me in the car, you keep running from me every time you see me at the RPD, when we're home, you always leave or just don't talk…now you're not even talking to me! Hey, are you list-"

But Wesker had pushed away from the brunette, "We'll talk later," he said. The blonde had caught a glimpse of what appeared to be-

"No," Chris said, grabbing his captain's arm. "Now, please. All you have to do is say a few-"

"I care about you, okay. More than I probably should. Now, if you'll excu-"

"What do you mean by that?" Chris practically shouted, but at the last moment, remembered to keep his voice in check.

Wesker pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to Chris's lips, almost too brief to register in Chris's mind. Chris dropped the daisy and it spun like a dancer to the floor as the kiss cut off.

"That's how much I care, Redfield."

Shocked, Chris let Wesker leave to go do whatever he had to do. He slowly pressed his fingertips to his lips, and then pinched them; to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He had always had a moderate crush on his captain (after all, who didn't?) and this had to be the most awkward, yet appealing, moment in the brunette's life.

Chris teetered babyishly out from under the tropical overgrowth and past Wesker, who was staring out the greenhouse window in a sort of trance, as if looking for something. His attention quickly snapped to Chris as the brunette stumbled past.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Bathroom." Chris provided and Wesker nodded.

--

On his way to the bathroom, Chris had picked up Nina, who had said that she had to go to the woman's room. The two chattered quietly, laughing at the 'head honcho' of the PSBG and other things that were said, and then they split as the bathrooms drew nearer.

"Here, I'll wait for you," Chris offered.

Nina nodded and giggled, "Thanks." She then disappeared into the ladies restroom.

Chris followed in suit. He went into the room, use the urinal, washed his hands, then waited by the drinking fountain (as promised) for Nina.

Five minutes passed.

"Wow, she must have really had to go…" Chris muttered to himself.

Seven minutes had now passed…and still no sign of Nina.

_Oh shit, maybe she like passed out in there or something!_ Chris thought, ready to push on the door, then stopped. He blushed, this was the girls' restroom, if Nina was just suffering from a really bad case of indigestion, then this would be a rather strange predicament. But then again, on the other hand, if she really was hurt…

"Oh to hell with waiting," Chris said, shoving at the door.

But the door wouldn't fully open, something was blocking the way. It only opened a crack; far enough for Chris to jam is head and front shoulder into the room.

"Nina?" he yelled, his voice echoing in the tiled room.

No response.

He tried again, "Nina?"

Nothing.

Giving one strong, muscled push, Chris managed to shove whatever was buttressing the entrance, away from the door. The door still wasn't open fully, but it could suffice, seeing as though Chris could shove his body through the opening.

Slithering through the blocked entrance, Chris paused in shock at what he saw.

Nina was dead on the floor of the woman's room, her throat slit in a gory, pencil straight line.

"Nina!" Chris yelled at the dead Asian. "Oh god Nina, wh-"

"Don't move." A cool voice instructed. The sound of a gun being cocked echoed throughout the restroom. The chilly barrel was pressed into the back of his neck, to prevent him from turning around.

"Who…who are you?" Chris murmured, fear and adrenaline coursing madly through his veins.

The person, a man by the tone of voice, clicked their tongue distastefully; "We'll have time for the formalities later, Chris. Now, it's time for you to meet your new friend, Leon."

"That cop ki-"

But Chris got no further, for the butt of the gun was slammed into his skull, and everything turned dark.

--

LOL CLIFFY!!

Review for an update.

But no flames plz


	7. Who the HELL are YOU?

Hello guys, some things have come up right now, so sorry if this chapter's short and my updates are spaced apart. Just, I'm busy and my home life is a tad screwy now, but it will get better – now onto Chapter 7 (wow, that far already?!)

Disclaimer is still the same as in Chapter 1

--

Wesker blew a piece of golden hair out of his eyes which had fallen from it's perfectly gelled state when he had bent over to pick up the daisy that Chris had dropped. It was pretty, the blonde always had this sort of…_thing_ for flowers, and it was a good way to distract the captain until Chris came back. Unintentionally, Wesker checked his watch.

Chris had left for the bathroom over twenty minutes ago.

"What the hell is taking you so long? Redfield you imbecile…" Wesker muttered, not meaning the insult. Really, under his hardcore façade, he was worried. Who went to the bathroom for twenty minutes? No one.

Growling softly, Wesker headed for the door. He was going to find Chris, then beat the snot out of him for taking so damn long. What was he doing in there anyw- wait, Wesker really _didn't _want to know. The only thing he wanted was for Redfield to get his butt in here, so that they could leave. He desperately wanted to go home and take a shower; he was coated in dirt.

Exiting the room, Wesker froze.

In the vestibule, the main lobby's walk in, a figure was sitting there holding a briefcase. And not just any figure; they were in a trench coat. Just sitting there, they were, as if there was nothing abnormal about sitting in the walk in area of the botanical gardens, in a trench coat. Oh, and holding a briefcase as well.

Regaining composure, Wesker softy tiptoed over to the glass case that was the PSBG's 'porch', if you will. The stranger had not noticed him yet, or if they did, they chose to remain ignorant. Good, he could use this to his advantage for a preemptive strike. Grasping the door handle (and fingering his Desert Eagle), the S.T.A.R.S. Captain opened it, listening to the 'shoom'-ing sound that made Wesker feel like he was an astronaut. He drew the gun, pointed, and opened his mouth to-

"Hello," the figure spoke in a tone that clearly indicated two things; that 'it' was a woman, and that she was not at all affected over the fact that Albert was holding a gun and looming over her.

"Good day, ma'am." Wesker lowered the gun slightly, but it was still taut in his fingertips, ready to be fired if it had to.

The woman turned, and her appearance greatly shocked Wesker.

Where a female face should have been, a wooden fox-like mask, the eyes covered in mesh netting, so that the wearer could not have been identified. Golden eyebrows were perched above the eyeholes, so that the woman looked like she had a funny joke to tell. The snout was curved downwards and then dashes were marred on the mask in red paint. A lighter style of wood highlighted the nose bone, and pert, triangular ears rose from the top of the mask, which had smaller pink triangles inside of them. The style of the mask seemed to fit her; the mask looking like it was practically welded to her face. She had a secret to hide, whether it be her identity or another matter entirely, Wesker didn't care, he just wanted to uncover anything this 'foxy' lady had to hide.

"I'm going to cut to the chase." she spoke urgently. Now that she was facing him, Wesker noted that her voice was slightly muffled. "Chris Redfield has been kidnapped. Nina Collins is dead."

This information slammed into Wesker like a U-haul doing seventy, and towing cinderblocks. It hurt to breath. He'd failed Nina and he'd failed in protecting…

"But," the woman's tone snapped Wesker out of his silent self-pity parade, "If you really, truly wish to get Christopher back, there is a way."

Anger coursed through the Captain's veins. He raised the Desert Eagle, "Do you really expect me to believe that?" he hissed, "How do I know that you're not the murder's accomplice or that _your_ not the murder? You know far to much to be considered an innocent piece of help."

"I expected that," the fox-faced stranger muttered, standing. "Well, then, I must bid you farewell, Captain Wesker."

She walked to the door and pressed gently on the push bar, "Of course, I do wish you the best of luck with finding Christopher. When you do, say hello to his tombstone for me."

That did the trick. An image of a dead and broken Chris Redfield floated into Wesker's mind, making him growl with rage.

"Wait."

She paused, her hand still on the door.

"Everything you need to know is inside of the case there." She threw a hand over her shoulder, gesturing to the briefcase that she had left on the waiting bench.

"Aren't you staying?" Wesker holstered his gun back into his leather belt.

"No," she said, "I have someone who's…_waiting_ for me, Captain. Until next time." Just like that, she opened the glass door and fled like a frightened deer. Musing on this, Wesker made a mental note not only to put her down under suspicious, but under the category of possible victim.

He watched the woman, let her have her moment and flee. He turned his attention to her little present. It was a simple briefcase, oak by the looks of it, with a shiny silver hinge on it, to prevent it from accidentally opening. All and all, it was normal. Grasping it by its handles, Wesker found it extremely light, as if nothing was in it.

Fighting off temptation to open the case, Wesker knew that he had to get the others, formulate a plan with them, and then see what would come of that.

--

"Barry," Jill itched her neck and yawned. "Wanna go take a break?" she pointed to the door of the room, the one that lead to the lobby.

The man shrugged, "Whatever. I just hope that Cap'in doesn't get mad."

She snorted, "I'll deal with him if he gives you shit."

"Holdin' ya to that." He straightened his uniform – an orange vest with a long sleeved undershirt, followed up with jeans – wiped his hands on his pants, then headed for the door. Jill followed in suit.

As Barry reached for the door handle, the exit began to open itself, and Barry found himself face to face with Captain Wesker.

"Hell-o." Barry said, taking a step back for personal space reasons.

"Nina's dead." He said coolly, not intending to sound harsh or uncaring.

"What?" Jill narrowed her eyes at the captain, the words of Forest replaying in her head. He had told her all about his notion of Wesker being the killer. Now that Nina was dead, this was starting to look like the case, though Jill believed firmly that Wesker was innocent until proven guilty.

"I-It's…Get Chambers first, I really only intend on explaining this once." He snapped, a migraine coming on.

"Sir," Barry and Jill said in unison, edging past their commander and rushed to get Rebecca. The girl was actually easy to locate. She was using the water fountain by the door of the room she was in. They quickly told her the little information that Wesker had told them, then hurried her out to the lobby so that they could hear the rest of his story. The two Alphas and the Bravo sat on the metal bench as Wesker paced and explained.

When his story of the fox woman was finished, Jill looked at her captain as if he needed to be medically stabilized.

"So, what your saying is that there was a woman in a trench coat and a wooden fox mask on, and she gave you this briefcase, and told you that Nina was dead?" she stared at him intently, wondering if, at any moment, Ashton Kutcher would pop out and scream 'you just got punked!' This all seemed like a really, really bad dream.

"No, he made the whole thing up," Barry said sarcastically, coming off as rude though he didn't mean to.

"Where's Nina now then?" Jill asked.

"She said that she had to go to the bathroom." Rebecca said softly, gazing at her hands as if they were the most important things in the world.

"Then we check there." Wesker said, running a hand through his hair. He set the briefcase in Jill's lap, "You. Hang on to this."

"Yes Captain." She stood, putting a hand on Rebecca's shoulder.

"Let's go and check the bathroom, kiddo."

The Bravo team member smiled brokenly. "Okay."

The two left.

They then returned fifteen minutes later with Rebecca in tears and Jill nodding solemnly. Bravo girl flopped down on the bench with a sob, and Jill placed the wooden case beside her.

"Whoever your foxy chick was, she was right. Her throat was…" Jill trailed off.

"Slit." Rebecca piped up, rubbing at her puffy eyes. Barry gave her a comforting, one-armed hug and the girl giggled slightly, "Thanks Bear."

"Anything for you kid."

"We did find one other thing…besides Nina."

Wesker arched one golden eyebrow, "And that would be…"

"A message." Jill said. "It said, UPSTAIRS."

--

THE END.

Lol, no, just kidding.

Next update, relatively soon!!


	8. Playing Sherlock Holmes

**Disclaimer is the same.**

So the mystery continues….

_Thank you for all the reviews, they really help and sorry for the exceptionally long wait._

Oh, and on another note, I forgot who said this, but the whole Kutcher comment…well, sometimes I forget that I'm writing back in the 90's…So, I'll fix that. Thanks for reminding me!

--

"Upstairs?" It was Barry who spoke.

Jill nodded as Rebecca sniffled. Then, the young Bravo team member spoke, "What if…Chris is u-up there?"

"I highly doubt it." Wesker said, his eyes locking onto the briefcase. "The woman, the one in the mask said that Christopher was kidnapped, not killed. She told me that there still was a chance for him to be saved."

"So?" Jill challenged. Wesker knew _far_ too much, in her mind.

"So," Barry interrupted, defending his captain's notions, "He can't be upstairs. She didn't lie about Nina. What motive would she have to lie about Chris?"

That shut Jill up. Rebecca hiccupped and rubbed at her eyes, Barry yawned, and Wesker sighed. They were all off in their own little world…this would have been almost comical, to see them all so out of character, but because of the fact that Chris wasn't with them anymore…

"Let's go." the small girl spoke, shrugging herself from Barry's embrace. She was through with crying, it was time for answers. Standing, she dutifully marched to the stairwell door and yanked the door open. She looked over her shoulder at the other S.T.A.R.S.

"Well," she cocked her eyebrows, "Are you coming, or not?" And she disappeared through, crossing the threshold, following just as the message had instructed. Insanity. She was faithful, but insane. Insane for trusting the bloody message (no pun intended), insane for thinking that her heart wouldn't be shattered when she found another body, and most defiantly insane for thinking that they would save Chris and then ride off into the sunset like everything was all hunky-dory. Faith and trust. That would be her imminent downfall.

It would all be their downfalls.

--

_Morphine…_

_Did we give him too much? Not enough?_

_The boss wants them…you can't get…_

_Put him in the…with…and he…_

Everything was coming back to him…the past hour? The past two hours? He wasn't awake for most of them, but some parts he picked up from his drug induced haze. The gun, a truck, being shoved into the back of it, injected with something…then he passed out for a while, everything was all black…but then he was set upon a chair, wooden, and injected with more drugs, setting him into a fitful, semi-awake state.

After all of this, he was surely taking a vacation.

Ropes bit into Chris's wrists as he struggled against his bonds. He kept his eyes shut, a throbbing headache making its presence known in the back of his head. A blindfold hid his eyes. He wasn't sure though if he really wanted to see what was on the other side of the cloth, but just by smell alone, Chris could tell that he was someplace _awful_. It reeked of blood, tobacco, alcohol, sex, and other things that the S.T.A.R.S. member really didn't care to identify.

"Hello?" he called out, hissing as the ropes burned into his wrists. He felt a trickle of blood escape from between the ropes, and cursed silently to himself.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again, "Is anyone there?"

This time he got a response, though it wasn't exactly what he hoped for, "Hello?" a feeble voice coughed. Chris couldn't tell if the person was male or female.

"Hello?" Chris said.

"Yeah?" The person's voice was soft, so the possibility of a man was ruled out. That, or it was a very feminine man.

Relief washed over Chris, "Can you untie me?" he asked.

"Gimme a sec…" shuffling was heard and then something was digging at Chris's wrists. It took a second, but eventually the ropes came off and fell to the floor with a hiss. The man rubbed at his wrists and then took his blindfold off, wincing at the bright light that attacked his eyes.

"Sorry, should have warned ya',"

Chris turned at practically gaped at his savior. It was a boy, almost too young to be considered to be a man, with long russet colored hair that flopped in front of one of his blue eyes. His face was slightly scratched, some healing and others not, and his upper half was nude. He was only wearing a pair of jeans, which were ripped at the knee.

"Hi," he said with a smile and a slight shiver, "I'm Leon."

--

Upstairs, as expected, was another murdered person. This time though, it was a quick kill, much like Nina's, only a bullet wound to the back of the head was the cause. The man, the curator of the botanical gardens, was found face down on his desk and for once, there were no words at the crime scene. None at all. Dr. Vladimir Kahn was dead, and now the group was at a literal dead end.

"What now?" Barry asked, trying not to look at the mess of the doctor.

"The case," Jill said, frowning, "There must be something in the case that we need."

"But it's too light for anything to be in it," protested Rebecca.

"Paper doesn't weigh anything though." Wesker said, removing his shades. He rubbed at his eyes in frustration. Should they take matters into their own hands, or should they give the documents to the forensic department so that they could be better analyzed? Time was of the utmost importance here, and Wesker really didn't want to waist time by lollygagging to the police department, then to wherever next.

"Fine," The captain sighed, "We'll take a vote. All in favor of giving it to the department?"

No hands were raised.

"All in favor of opening this son of a bitch?"

Four hands rose, and Barry smirked. "Lets pop this sucker open then!" he said.

Laying the case on the floor, the group sat Indian Style (the desk was too bloody to set anything on) as Wesker opened it. One lock, _click_, and the other…_click_…the case opened and inside was a small brass key and a note.

Rebecca's eyebrows furrowed, "A key?"

"And what are all these suppost to mean?" Jill picked up the piece of paper, a pure white sheet of paper, which clearly read: NF SPE489 Pg. 154. She couldn't make heads or tails of the note.

"Let me see," Barry asked as Jill passed the paper. He looked at it for a minute before handing it to Wesker, who also had the key.

"Jesus." Wesker breathed. He could make no sense of it either. To him, it was pure gibberish. What if the woman in the lobby was lying? What if she really didn't know anything about Chris's whereabouts? Frowning, Wesker gave the key to Jill, and the paper to Rebecca, the only person who hadn't seen it yet.

As soon as she did though, she smiled. "Genius." She breathed. "Hide it where no one would look."

Three pairs of eyes stared at her. "What are you talking about, kid?" Barry asked, looking at her as if she was crazy.

"When you want to hide something, you'd hide it where no one would think to look, right?" she asked, hysterically happy.

"Yeah…So?" Jill urged.

"With all of the technology now a days, where would no one think to look for anything?"

Jill, Barry, and Wesker exchanged exasperated looks. They were so stupid! How could they have not figured it out when they had first looked at it? It was because none of them had been there in a while.

"This isn't a code, an account number, gibberish or anything!" she said her smile now a wide, fat, ear-to-ear grin. "It's a library call number."

"So," Barry began, "whatever we need-"

"What ever we need is in that book." Wesker said, standing.

"Next stop, the library." Jill said, hoping that it shortly would be their _last _stop. But boy was she wrong.

--

**Finally I completed a chapter!!**

HUZAH!!

_Review please, and maybe I'll get the next chappy up sooner!!_


	9. Libraries

Really, you guys are the sweetest reviewers EVER. I went to Chicago for a class trip, and some of the places really gave me inspiration, along with some of the people, and some of my friends. I saw a guy who was in a large trench coat and a wide brimmed hat and that scared the hell out of me…XD

Anyways…Disclaimer is still the same…ON WITH THE SHOW!!

--

Finding the library wasn't as easy as the group was led on to believe. The four were unsure of whether to check the libraries in Raccoon City, or all of the libraries in Pennsylvania. The decision was hard, but finally the group split up, each taking a library around the Raccoon City area. There was one directly in the city, which was the one that Wesker was taking, and there was another about 20 minutes outside of town, in the neighboring city of Flatts, which Barry was going to. Rebecca had decided to check the Pennsylvania State Library, which was an hour an a half away from Raccoon, and Jill was stuck with a library which was about an hour's drive from the city, in a small town called Bostitch.

They had all agreed to call as soon as they found something, but no one had even made a move for their cell phones in over an hour. Wesker was running out of patience. Sure, Chris was only taken about three or four hours ago, but those moments…they had to be the worst possible moments of the Captain's life. He had a horrible feeling in his gut, one that felt like he was going to throw up at any minute.

He fingered the piece of napkin, of which he had crudely written the call number to the book. Rebecca had the real copy, while he, Jill, and Barry had to write it down.

Shifting from foot to foot, the man sighed. He had to wait in line to talk to one of the librarians. He was clueless as where to go in this place; the last library that he had visited was the one in New York from his previous job. That was around two years ago. Since then, he had been to busy for such frivolous things like books. Now it looked like it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Hard.

"Next." A small woman with graying hair called out, the line slowly inching forward. He only had to wait for three more people to be called, and then, all of his questions would be answered. Or, at least he hoped so.

--

Barry was having shit luck.

After walking around the Flatts City Library for almost an hour, he had come up with nothing. There was no NF SPE489 Pg. 154, _anywhere_. His hope of finding the killer and Chris were slightly thinning, along with his stamina and patience. His best friend was missing, captured by a cereal killer, and now he was being led around on a chain on some wild scavenger hunt goose chase all throughout the state.

His thoughts switched then to his wife, Polly, and his two girls, Moira and Polly Anne. He was tempted to send them to his brother's house, down in Florida, till this whole ordeal was over, but Polly would have none of that. When he had brought up the cereal killer the other night, before Chris was kidnapped, the talk had escaladed into a mini fight, in which Polly refused to leave him and the house behind. He had tried to explain that it was in the girls' best interest, but she responded by saying that it wouldn't help if she had to explain why their father was in a body bag. Then, they had just dropped it.

The bearded man plopped himself down in a wooden chair in the nonfiction section. Rubbing his beard, Barry closed his eyes, hoping that Wesker, Jill, and Rebecca were having better luck than he was.

--

Jill had done it.

She had located a book by the call number of NF SPE489, but her expression and hopes were crestfallen as soon as she found out that there was no page 154 in the book. _True Crime Stories_, the name of the book, seemed to be for little kids (pre-teens, possibly), and stopped four pages short of her goal.

She was sitting in the vestibule, her head in her hands, unsure of what to do next. Wesker said to call if she found something, but she only could report failure. Was that something she could call over?

Letting out a low, exasperated growl, Jill took out her phone and texted Rebecca a short message that read: Are u there yet?

Shutting the phone, she waited for a response. In a few moments she got one: No. Find Anything?

Jill quickly texted back: Yeah. But it was a kid bk. 4 pgs short o' 154. She added a little smiley at the end with the emotion, exasperated.

The phone buzzed five minutes later, with the message: lol well…sry…almost there. Wish me luck.

Jill quickly typed in: Luck! And sent the message. She then turned her phone off and exited the library, heading to her car.

"Back to Raccoon, I guess." She murmured to herself.

--

After Jill had texted the final message, Rebecca had wound up in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So much for good luck. Supposedly, there was an accident up ahead, a rollover according to the news, and she knew that she'd be in the small vehicle for a while.

"Joy." She muttered sarcastically, switching the radio from A.M to F.M. She turned it then to her favorite station, rock music, and started singing along to a Nirvana song that she found. Her favorite; Smells Like Teen Spirit.

She picked up her phone, which was lying in her cup holder, and dialed in Wesker's cell phone number. After the third ring, he picked up.

"_Rebecca?"_

"Hi, Captain," she said, turning the music down, "I just wanted say that I'm stuck in bumper-to-bumper, and I don't think I'll be moving for a while."

There was silence on the other end until an annoyed sigh broke the quiet; _"I guess the world's against us then."_

The girl let out a bark of laughter. "Seems so. Anyways, Jill just told me that she found the call number –"

"_She did?"_

"Yeah, but the book was only 150 pages. Four short."

Wesker growled, _"Damn it! Very well then, have you heard from Barry?"_

"No." Rebecca said, inching her car forward as the traffic seemed to move. "Sorry."

"_Not your fault. I'll call him. Call me whenever you get there."_

"Yes sir."

"_Thank you Chambers. Be safe."_

Rebecca blushed, "I will. Y-you to Captain."

She hung up the phone and placed it back in the cup holder. She hoped that Barry had figured out something. Turning up the music, Rebecca slumped in the driver's seat, deciding that the day might have been the worst one she'd ever experienced. Ever.

--

Within the vicinity of an hour or two, Chris and Leon were talking as if they'd known each other for their whole lives. It was amazing what you could learn about a person if you both shared the common entity of being locked in a jail cell by a madman.

By the time the two fell quiet, Chris could recite that Leon's favorite color was yellow, he was allergic to rabbits, his favorite food was anything Mexican, he had a Dalmatian at home right now named Thatcher, and that he really good at playing the piano. At the same time, Leon could say that Chris had a sister named Claire, he was an orphan, his favorite color was green, he liked cats but didn't have the time to own one, and that his favorite band was The Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Chris was now sitting in the far left corner of the windowless cell with his knees drawn up to his chest, while Leon was lying in the center, with his hands behind his head and his body stretched out.

"So…how did you get here?" Chris asked. This was the only topic that the two had not talked about.

Leon flipped over to his stomach, putting his chin on his forearms and spoke softly, "I was kidnapped on my way to work."

"How?"

"Well…I was driving into the station, when someone T-boned my car at like, forty or something. I sorta' passed out after that, and then woke up here." Leon confessed.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you shirtless?" Chris said, raising an eyebrow.

Leon gave a shrug. "I don't know, maybe they just think I'm that sexy."

Chris snorted, "In your dreams, Casanova."

"Oh come on, you know you think I'm sexy." Leon teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Shut up kid." Chris smirked.

"I am _not_ a kid!" yelled Leon.

"Of course your not." Chris said, grinning.

"I'm 22 years old!"

"Well, you're younger than me, and therefore, you're a kid."

"Yeah, old man." Leon murmured.

"Excuse me? Old?" Chris snapped.

"Yup."

"Hey, 25 is _not _old." He growled.

The two glared at one another for a second before bursting out laughing. It seemed that they could make the best out of a horrible situation. Everything almost seemed normal, at least not as scary as it could have been, until the heavy steel door swung open slamming against the brick wall. Leon and Chris both jumped and abruptly stopped laughing.

"Hello, Leon." The manly voice cooed.

Chris took a look at Leon and noticed that pure fear was reflected in his eyes. Just that one look let Chris know that he was now virtually screwed.

--

TO BE CONTINUED!!


	10. Hate You With All I Got

Disclaimer is the same

**Thanks for all that reviewed!!**

Lol, Womanizer is such great inspiration…XD

WARNING: Copious amounts of the word **fuck**

**And the reason that this chapter is up so fast, is that there is an important question at the end for you guys, which will determine how I'll end (wow…we're that far already?) this little bugger.**

--

"How's it going baby?" Into the cell walked a tan man with shaggy brown dreadlocks. His head was adorned with goggles that seemed to fit more with a fighter pilot ensemble, rather than what he was wearing, which was tight leather pants and a Spanish looking ruffled shirt with his chest exposed. His black eyes were gleaming with a psychotic sort of happiness, which was directed solely at Leon.

Chris glanced at the young, rookie cop, who seemed to be rooted to the spot with fear. His jaw was clenched tightly shut, and his breathing erratic.

"Who are you?" Chris snapped.

The man chose not to answer, instead, stalking predatorily towards Leon with a wide and insane grin, plastered to his face. He bent down to the boy and whispered warmly, "Long time, no see, hunh?"

He stroked the side of Leon's face. The boy screeched in protest. "Don't touch me!"

This action awarded Leon with a harsh and rough punch to the jaw, making his vision swim dangerously. His head hit the cement ground with a dull thud, and Chris winced. The rookie groaned and attempted to right himself, but the new man was on top of him, pinning his legs beneath the boy and his arms to the sides of his body.

"Kinky, no?" he sneered.

"Fuck you." Leon said venomously, and spat in the man's face. With a disgusted look, the man wiped off the spit and then raised his fist again, striking the young cop right in the windpipe.

"Leon!" Chris screamed, and was up in an instant, ready to help his new friend. He tackled into the man with all of his strength, which was only half of what it usually was, due to the fact that the morphine had yet to fully wear off, and sent him flying into the brick wall.

"Gods…are you okay?" he said, pulling the wheezing kid into an upright position. Leon nodded once before vomiting onto the floor beneath him. Comfortingly, Chris rubbed his back until he was done.

"Now I am…" the kid said with a wry smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You bitch." The tan man growled from his slump on the floor. "You just fucking hit me."

"You bet your ass I did." Chris glowered. "And I'll do it again if you even _touch _Leon without his permission. I _will_ kill you, and don't you forget it."

"Try it, Redfield. Your little sister will be dead before you can take your next breath." He smirked, rubbing at the side of his face, which now was sporting a yellow bruise from where Chris's shoulder had collided with the cheekbone.

"Claire?" the Alpha team member breathed out. "How do you…who…Wh-What?"

"I know a lot about you Chris. Where you live. What collage your sister goes to. Where you go to work. Who your friends are. Where they live. I know everything. I can crush your life with a simple phone call. All your friends and family will be dead in minutes, so don't tempt _me_." The goggled man said with a cruel smirk. "Understand?"

Numbly, Chris nodded. Nothing would happen to Claire if he obeyed. So, all he had to do was survive and do everything that this freak said, and she'd be okay. Barry would be okay. So would Jill and Rebecca. Along with Wesker…

"Just who are you?" Chris said incredulously.

"I'm Jonas Wood." He said, stepping towards the door. "Expert thief. Head of the underground mafia. Recently employed by…well that's on a need to know basis…oh, and Leon, why don't you tell him the most important thing?"

Chris looked at the abused boy, who seemed to shrink away under his gaze. "Leon?"

"He's all that," Leon said softly, "and he's my ex-boyfriend."

--

Finally, Wesker was at the front of the line. It was his turn, _finally_, to see the damn librarian.

"Hello honey, how can I help you?" a sweet young woman with graying red hair said, gazing at Wesker with interest. "You're one of the Captains of the S.T.A.R.S., aren't you?"

Wesker was taken aback, not many people were aware of his position, "Y-yes, and you are…?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Forest Spyers mother, Maybel Spyers." She held out her hand and Wesker shook it lightly, not wanting to break the woman.

"Now that, you mention it, you do look like Forest…" Wesker murmured, making the woman smile.

"Oh posh, anyways, there's a line behind you and I'm pretty sure you didn't come here just to talk to an old thing like me, did you?" Maybel teased.

"Actually," Wesker cleared his throat; "I was here to see if you had a book by the call number of NF SPE489."

"Well, the NF stands for Non-Fiction…so, it'd be in that section…and as for SPE489." Maybel turned around, "Angus, I'm going to show this young man where a book is, can you handle the crowd until then?"

"Hurry back!" Angus croaked.

"Thanks!" She stepped nimbly out from behind the desk and grabbed Wesker by the wrist. "This way, please."

"Sure…" for an old woman, she could sure move fast. She led him to a short set of stairs and then up them to shelves upon shelves of books, old and new.

"Over here." She whipped him abruptly around a couple of teenagers sandwiched in between the shelves and down to a wall of books, which were easily twice as tall as him. Which was tall, seeing as though he was around six foot five.

"SPE should be right…there!" she pointed, and sure enough, there was a pack of books, all with the spine labeling SPE. "Now, just look for 489. I'll look over here, you look around there." She pointed to farther down the shelf.

Wesker took to looking for the book, and after a few minutes he called out softly to Maybel, "Find anything, Mrs. Spyers?"

"No. Maybe it's been checked out…" she murmured. "Oh, and please, call me Maybel." She stood upright from her crouch. "Let's go back to information desk, I'll look up if we have the book, or if it's checked out."

"Are you sure that it even belongs to your library Mrs.- I mean, Maybel?" Wesker asked following her back to the information desk. Most of the crowd was gone now, save for one blonde haired girl, listening to a Walkman.

"Positive…I saw it just the other day on the shelving cart…" she stepped behind the desk and began clicking away on the computer. "Angus! I'm back."

"Okay."

Meanwhile, Wesker opened up his phone and clicked on Jill's number. It rang four or five times before directing him to voicemail. Frowning, he clicked on Rebecca's number. After two rings, she picked up.

"_Hi Captain! Find anything?"_

"Yes. The book's been checked out though." He said, looking at a very busy Maybel.

"_Well, how long is it?"_ the girl asked.

"Hang on," Wesker looked at Maybel, "How long…how many pages is the book?"

"It's 370, honey." She said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

Smirking, Wesker curtly said to Rebecca, "It's 370 pages long."

"_Yes!"_ she yelped triumphantly. _"So, should I just get off at the next exit?"_

"That, you should do. Oh, and try calling Jill, she wouldn't answer her phone for me." The blonde instructed. On the other line Rebecca giggled.

"_Yes sir! We're gonna get Chris back!"_

Wesker's tensed, but didn't miss a beat of the conversation, "You bet. Hurry Kid."

"_Bye, Captain!"_

Wesker shut the phone and looked at Maybel, who was facing a printer. She grabbed a sheet from it and then spun, handing it to the Captain.

"Here, I figured you might need the address to the place where the book is located." Her smile faltered slightly and she spoke softer, "Please bring Chris back. He's like a son to me. Ever since his parents died…"

"His parents are dead?" Wesker echoed.

Maybel nodded, "Yes, when he moved to Raccoon with an aunt and uncle, he and Forest became the best of friends. I practically helped raise the little Hell raiser." She smiled ruefully. "Please bring him back in one piece, Mr. Wesker."

"I intend on nothing less," Wesker said, sighing. "And please, call me Albert. It's only fair."

The smile returned to Maybel's face. "Thank you, Albert. The woman who checked out the book, her name is Tracy Newman. I hope that helps!"

"Oh, believe me, it will." Wesker said walking away, "Take care Maybel."

"You too, Albert!" she said, waving as he walked out the door.

Once outside, Wesker unsheathed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Barry's number. The mystery was finally reaching its forte, and eventually, it would have to decrescendo. Wesker just hoped that it would all end soon. Then he could have Chris back in his arms and he could –

"_Hello?"_

"Barry," Wesker coughed, regaining his composure, "I have some good news for you."

--

Okay, I posted a pole on my profile, and would appreciate it if you all took the time to cast your vote. Tis pertaining to the mystery, and really, how I'm gonna end this thing. Every vote counts!!

Please Review!!


	11. Don't Rush

**Just a note, I totally LOL-ed at the poll results, oh dear Jesus is this gonna get interesting…XD**

Disclaimer is still the same

Happy Easter to all! Even if you don't celebrate it, I still hope you have a happy Sunday!! You know…it sort of seems sacrilegious to update a gay story on a

Jesus-rific day…O.o

--

Even thought Wesker wanted to pursue the murder, and the book, to the next location, he had to stop and go home for the night. They all did. During their efforts to find the book, they had failed to notice that the sun had long since gone down and it was now 10:30 at night. Barry had to go and see his wife and kids, Rebecca had been driving all day and wanted rest, and finally when Jill had picked up her phone, she had revealed that she had gotten sick in a McDonalds bathroom. They all needed to rest and replete their energy. As much as Wesker disliked the fact, he too needed to go to bed, for he was feeling drowsy and his eyes, heavy.

"Good night," Rebecca said as they all parted their separate ways from the Police Department.

Wesker stepped into his car and slowly started it. It wasn't the most fashionable of cars; actually, it was a MK4 Toyota Supra, so it wasn't ugly, nor was it cool looking. It was just…a plain car. It was nothing really to look at. The man glanced sideways at the address that Maybel had printed off for him.

It read, 1379, Oxford Road. He didn't know exactly where it was at, but he did remember seeing that street sign before, so it wasn't like he was chasing all over Raccoon. Tired of the silence as he drove, Wesker turned on the radio.

Crap…that was crap too…more crap…Madonna, god no…finally Wesker decided on some random, upbeat song. Basically, he was looking for some un-depressing music.

"_And all the girlies say he's pretty fly…for a white guy."_

Wesker smirked slightly at the lyrics. Turning down a side street, the blonde finally spied his house in the glow of his headlights…But why were his lights on? He could have swore that he turned them off before he left, he was a fine supporter of saving the rainforest and all that jazz, so he always turned off his lights. This was…weird. Freaky, weird.

Slowly creeping his car into the driveway, Wesker killed the engine and sat in his car for a minute, looking at his house (his shared house, he couldn't forget that) in disbelief. He saw no movements inside, and no noises or eerie shadows…so…

He felt the Desert Eagle in his gun holster and, with much regret, left the car. Taking a shaky breath, he drew the weapon, shut the car door, and then locked the vehicle with a beep. Taking stealthy, timid steps, Wesker climbed the white cement patio steps and approached the glass of the front door. He opened it with a breathless motion, and revealed his keys from his leather jacket pocket. He unlocked the door, and waited for a moment, slowly counting Mississippi-Seconds to five…then opened the oak entrance.

He waved his gun slowly around the room, surveying it for anything that looked conspicuously out of place. His furniture was exactly as he left it before going to work this morning, there was no audible movement, and there didn't seem to be anything of value missing…

"Good," he breathed a sigh, shutting the door behind him with a click. He snapped the safety back onto his gun and sheathed it into his holster. Unclipping the belt with all his accessories on it, he threw it onto the nearest couch and walked to his kitchen. Water, he needed water.

Grabbing a cup from the cupboard above, he turned on the tap and shoved the plastic item under it. Taking a sip, he shut off the water and discarded the cup into the sink. His stomach then growled for food. Rubbing at it, the Captain headed for the fridge, hoping that there were some leftovers that could be reheated. He couldn't cook at all. Opening the door, he deadpanned.

Inside the fridge, was a note. In big, scrawled letters it read –

YOU'RE BEING WATCHED. BE CAREFUL OF WHO YOU TRUST.

He really should have been expecting this…

--

"Wait, so this guy is your ex?" Chris asked, many hours after Woods had left.

"Theoretically speaking, yes." Leon answered.

"But in actuality…he's what?" the older man pressed.

"Honestly, I'm not gay. I'm straight, really." Leon said ignoring the incredulous looks he was getting from Chris. "The department, a part of the department, knew all about the mafia, but they just couldn't pinpoint them to one location for a takedown. It would be easier if they had a man inside, to tell them things, like their next plan, what drugs they had a hold on, you know, gang stuff. Well, that man was me. The department knew, from observation, that Woods was gay. So, they posed me as the harmless new guy in town and tried their hardest to make me appear where Woods was. Eventually, it worked. I got on the inner circle, and for a little while, things were working smoothly. But then…"

Chris looked at the kid, urging him to go on, "Then what?"

"Well, _he_ wanted to take it to a whole new level. You know, 'Third Base'?" Leon shuddered, then resumed, "I just kept denying it, and eventually, he sorta…snapped."

"Oh gods…he didn't…"

Leon shook his head slowly, "No, but after that, things REALLY went downhill. He figured out that I was a double agent and imprisoned me here. The force had told me earlier on, when I took this job, that if I was captured, it was a suicide mission and that they couldn't come and get me. So basically, I was doomed to be here for the rest of my life. I had to tell _him_ everything that I knew; otherwise, he said that he'd kill my parents. And I just couldn't…you know… I just…" Leon fell quiet.

The Alpha team member's blood boiled. If it wasn't enough to hate this Woods character for what he did to all of his friends, then it certainly was enough for what he did to Leon. It was amazing that the kid could keep a straight face after all of this chaos and mayhem. He was only 22 damn it!

"We should get some sleep now, I think it's dark out…" Leon muttered, looking at the stone ceiling.

"Yeah." Chris said, pulling his knees up to his chest. Placing his head against the wall he shut his eyes.

"Good night, Chris."

"Good night, Leon."

--

That night, Wesker had a hard time sleeping. The answer why was oblivious – No Chris. It seemed harder to sleep without the brunette's soft murmurs in his sleep, than with them. He had gotten so used to the noise, that without the sound, the silence almost seemed deafening.

"Damn it," the blonde cursed for what seemed to be the millionth time. He rolled over and threw the nearest pillow on top of his mussed hair and sighed. Closing his eyes, he tried to catch at least _some _sleep, but doing such seemed inevitably stupid.

Who was he fooling? He wasn't going to get any sleep. Accepting his fate, he sat up in bed and looked at the clock, which read in fluorescent numbering 2:52 A.M.

"Oh god," he said, firmly throwing his body down on the mattress. Only three more hours of sleeplessness left.

--

The morning couldn't come quick enough, and when it did, Wesker arrived at work a half hour early. The others weren't suppost to be coming for another hour, and then some. Barry always came late to work, he said that he needed to see his daughters off to school, and Jill lived the farthest away from the department and always found herself stuck in countless traffic jams.

Unsure of what to do with the extra time on his hands, Wesker made his way to the break room to go and make himself a coffee. Though he had enough energy to run the Tour De France several times over last night, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open today.

Damn adrenaline.

Expecting to be alone at this hour, Wesker was surprised to find the Chief of Raccoon City Police, Brian Irons, in the room.

Irons was a rather self-centered, concededly stupid, man who only had a passion for things that would better him. A few years back, he had tried running for the position of Raccoon City mayor, but was beat by Timothy Harris, who was still the current mayor. He and Harris were now enemies, turned good friends, and rumor had it that Irons had the hots for the mayor's youngest daughter, Jessica Harris. Or was it the oldest, Beverly Harris? Wesker didn't bother himself with such trifle matters, such as gossip, and couldn't remember for the life of him who was considered 'in' or 'out' in the world. Not like it mattered though. Irons was a man who, though greedy and pig headed, was an okay leader for the force, though Wesker believed that he could do a million times better than he.

Irons grunted as the Captain entered the room, "Wesker," he snorted, "Just the man I've been wanting to see."

"Good morning, Chief Irons." He returned slickly, wishing to make the conversation short and sweet. He really had a dislike for this man, ever since he had been extremely rude to Chris on his first day on the force. He insulted Chris's smaller figure and called him the force's 'boy toy', which had nearly sent the man into a fit of anger, which could have gotten him fired on his first day.

"I heard that you've been getting a bunch of leads on the murder case," he said, taking a sip of pure black coffee.

"Yes sir," Wesker said, making his way to the coffee pot. He grabbed a cup and waited for Irons to say something.

"Well, in my opinion, you should back off of it a little."

_Since when has YOUR opinion ever mattered to me, you fat—_ "Back off?" Wesker arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"The mafia is involved." He said, as if that would explain everything.

"Yes…and?"

"Have you heard of the massacre of '88?" he asked solemnly.

"Of course," Wesker said. It was earlier on in his career when a downtown hotel was burned to the ground in seconds with around 500 people inside. It was common belief that the mafia was the cause, with unknown motives, but they were never caught. "But what does this have to do with –"

"Acting too quickly." Irons butt in.

"Excuse me?"

"People in the department acted too quickly on faulty leads, and look how that ended up. Over 500 people dead, and around a million dollars done in damages. All I'm saying is that think before you rush, Albert, the last thing we need is more killings." He said, leaving the innuendo wide open at Wesker. He was hinting at Chris.

"Oh…yes, sir." He whispered clutching the handle of the coffee pot till it was about to smash.

Without another word, Irons left the break room.

Then a thought dawned on Wesker -- When did he ever tell Irons about Chris's disappearance?!

--

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	12. Learn Your Manners

Thanks for all that reviewed

And the mystery deepens…O.o

Disclaimer is still the same

--

The four S.T.A.R.S. operatives piled into an undercover police cruiser – Barry in the passenger, Jill and Rebecca in the back, with Wesker driving – and ran through the plan one more time. They were at the house, with only ten minutes worth of driving, but didn't want to screw up the possibility of piecing together the mystery. It was just like what Irons said…Wesker shook the thought.

"Okay," Barry sighed. It was two thirty in the afternoon and all day the team had been working on finding out anything about their target. The book holder's name was Tracy Newman; her age was 35, she worked as a nurse, and she was married with two daughters and a son. "So, she's home from work?"

"She should be," Rebecca said, reading over the fact sheet on Newman. "Unless something happened."

Jill looked at the house on Oxford Road. There were no cars in the driveway, but that didn't deter the redhead from the fact that she wanted to talk to this woman.

"Maybe her car is in the garage?" she proposed.

"Maybe," Wesker agreed. He shut off the radio, killed the engine, and waited for a moment. "We should knock on the door and kindly ask for the book."

"Yeah," Jill rolled her eyes, "And scare the living shit out of whoever answers the door."

"Any other suggestions, Miss Valentine?" Wesker asked coolly.

"No, sir." She whispered, her breath fogging up a small portion of the mirror.

"Then let's stick to the Captain's plan." Barry defended. He didn't like how Jill had been treating Wesker lately; it was pretty much the equivalent of dirt. Or less than.

"Right," Rebecca opened her car door and stepped onto the freshly cut, green grass. She sighed and looked back at the others, who were still in the car.

"Coming?" she questioned.

Wesker and Barry popped their doors open in unison, while Jill stayed in the car. Barry looked back at the girl inside.

"What's wrong?" Barry bent down to the car window.

Jill looked up and rolled the window down, "I'm not feeling so hot. Again. Let me just…come inside, later. Okay?"

Barry nodded as she rolled up the window a little. He walked up the walkway to the others, who were standing idle on the front porch.

"What's wrong with Jill?" Rebecca said, glancing back at the car.

"She still doesn't feel good. From yesterday." He said simply. "Says she'll join us when she's feeling better."

"Oh…okay!" she turned and faced the door.

"Ready?" Wesker said, increasingly impatient. The other two nodded.

Wesker raised a fist and rapped three times on the door. He swallowed nervously and prayed to any deity listening that they wouldn't fuck this up.

--

"I have to take a piss."

"Do I look like I have a bathroom on hand, Chris?"

"Well," Chris squirmed, "You've been here longer than I have. What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom here?"

Leon made a face, "You hold it in until Psycho comes back."

Chris groaned.

"You know, there is a corner over there. That is, if you're desperate enough. He should be here in a little while with food." Leon explained.

"Good," Chris smirked, "I'm starved."

"You're freaking everything, aren't you?" the smaller man said, mock-frowning.

"Pretty much." The marksman stretched and scratched at his stomach. He stood.

"What are you doing?" Leon looked at the other quizzically.

Chris unzipped his jeans, "What does it look like?"

"Oh, eww. You're disgusting!" Leon complained.

"Take it like a man, man." Chris shrugged as he emptied his bladder. When he was done, he zipped his fly back up and turned to Leon, with a much more solemn look on his face.

"Speaking of man, did you learn anything useful about ours?" he asked.

"Hunh?" the cop asked, confused.

"About Woods, did you learn anything useful about him? Is there anything that we can use to our advantage or to escape?"

Leon crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought. He knocked his head backwards against the stony wall in a steady rhythm for a few minutes, before sighing. "Not that could be used in a situation like this," he murmured.

"Well, what do you know?" Chris pressed.

"He has connections-"

"Obviously."

"No, not just through killings, but through like…drug work. He was working on a project that he called 'The Big Bang', or something like that. It involved the mayor, and lots and lots of drugs. And killings too, people are going to die. That all I managed to get before I was captured." The sandy blonde admitted.

"So, 'The Big Bang', right?"

"Yeah," Leon nodded, "And I reported to the R.P.D. to add extra protection to the mayor, which they did, but I still have this sort of…sinking feeling, that everything's just _not _going to be okay."

"Don't worry, you're nervous. It's natural when you're a prisoner."

A sinister laugh hacked through the neutral air that surrounded the two men, "So, Redfield, you've been imprisoned before?"

Woods was nowhere in vicinity, but his voice was projecting itself out of somewhere.

"Surprised?" the quality of the audio was astonishing. It was almost like Woods was right next to the two, or at least within visual. But Chris would never admit that.

"Actually, yes." Chris said with a cocky smile. "Surprised that you were intelligent enough to figure out how to hook up and install a crappy sound system. I bet you a three year old could do better than this."

"Don't tempt me, Christopher."

"Oh, so we're on a first name basis now, are we, _Jonas_?"

The voice fell silent for a moment, then, "I think someone needs to learn their place." Woods purred.

Chris's insides squirmed, "No…Claire! Don't touch her you bastard! Don't you _dare _touch her!" he roared.

"When all of this is over, I think that everyone will know who's in charge here." The voice said, in a singsong, over the intercom. It seemed to hold an undertone of an innuendo, but of that, Chris wasn't entirely sure.

"Not Claire! Please!" he screamed.

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over my crappy sound system." Woods chuckled, and the room fell quite.

"ASSHOLE!" enraged, Chris punched the wall next to him, his knuckles splitting open from the blow. He was so numb though, that it didn't matter. His stupid, sharp tongue, was going to get Claire killed. His precious little sister, that did nothing wrong, was going to be dead within the hour, if not a little longer.

"Chris?" Leon placed a hand on the man's shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Nothing mattered now.

In a few hours, he would be the last remaining Redfield.

--

I heart torturing Chris. Bastardism = LURV

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Review!!


	13. Get Down!

Thank you all for the reviews, they really boost my morale!  
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**Disclaimer = Same**

On with the show!

--

The door creaked open. Wesker held his breath. Barry stood tall. Rebecca bit her lower lip.

"Hello?" A medium sized woman poked her head out of the door. She had blonde hair that was knotted into a bun at the nape of her neck. Bangs fell down to her eyebrows and her green eyes revealed a concerned look. "May I help you?"

Wesker slipped a hand into his pocket and revealed his S.T.A.R.S. ID card. "Hello Mrs. Newman, we'd like to ask you some questions."

"If you don't mind," Barry added in.

"No…" The woman swallowed nervously, "Please, come on in." She swung the white door open a little more and the trio piled in.

"Your house is very beautiful." Rebecca commented offhandedly.

"Oh," the lady smiled, "Thank you."

"Rebecca Chambers." The Bravo girl held out a hand.

"Allison Newman." She said, returning the gesture.

"Allison?" Wesker looked at her, surprised.

"Yes. Allison. If you're looking for the _Mrs. _Newman of the house, she's at the store. I'm her daughter." She spoke in a soft tone.

"Ah, well," Wesker held out a hand, "Albert Wesker."

Allison shook it, "A pleasure. And you are…?"

"Barry Burton." The two shook. "If you don't mind me asking, when will your mother be home?"

"Any minute." She said. "May I interest you in anything? A dr-"

_Alli-Alli-Alli-Alli!_

"Oh, excuse me." Allison bolted up the stairs. She returned a moment later with a curly, black haired toddler. "Say hello to our guests, Joshua."

"No." the little boy pouted. "Want mommy."

"Mommy will be home in a minute, okay?" she offered.

"Want down." Joshua said, shoving.

"Okay, go play with your toys." She said. Joshua nodded and ran off.

"Sorry," She said, blushing. "Little brothers, hunh? Now, um…please, uh let me get you something."

Allison dashed off with the adults in tow. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" she yelled, filling up glasses with water.

"Uh, well, you see…" Rebecca was at a loss of what to tell the child.

"Don't worry, I'm fifteen, I can handle it." She said, returning to the table and passing out glasses.

"You're fifteen?" Barry repeated, "But that means – OW!" Rebecca had given him a swift kick from under the glass table. She shot him a glare.

"I'm adopted." She said simply, "So is Joshua and my other little sister, Hannah."

"Oh." Was all Barry said this time.

"You're aware of the murders being preformed, correct?" Wesker spoke, sipping at his water. Allison nodded and silently pleaded for the captain to go on. "Well, we were given a…hint, a clue, and it's in a library book that's checked out to this house. Have you any idea what book that may be?"

"Yeah, my mom and I went to the library just the other day." Allison said slowly. "Here, let me go and get the books."

"Thank you, Allison." Barry said, his cheeks stained slightly red.

"Oh, don't worry about it." She said, and was gone. A moment later, she came back with a plastic bag full of books, to the point where the fibers of the bag were nearly ripping. "Here." She slammed them down on the table, which shook in protest.

Wesker grabbed the bag from the teen and dumped the contents on the table. There were nine books now on the table, four of which were baby books, and two of which were bound differently with the spine on the right side. The other three were thick books, each of which could have been the one. Barry picked up a book that had the title, _A Tale of Two Cities_, while Rebecca inspected _IT_.Wesker wordlessly grabbed _Song of the Sparrow_.

"Nothing." Barry sighed.

"Same." Said Rebecca.

Wesker's body tingled with anticipation. He had the book. If he didn't…he'd rather not think about that. Not about Chr-

"Page 154." The captain whispered. His eyes scanned the page and landed on a sole underlined word. _Arthur_. Next to it, written in blue pen, was the scrawled word _CHAPTER FORWARD +_. Another underlined phrase was present as well.

"Chapter forward plus?" Allison read from over Wesker's shoulder.

"What?" Rebecca got up. "That makes no…"

"Sense?" Wesker imputed. "I know." He tossed the book to Barry, to let him look it over.

"'_Yes', __Arthur__ intones. 'But these are better days, for my heart is filled with much gladness to see how strong you are'._" He read, "_'And I am grateful,' Arthur continues, 'for your skills in the healing arts. You have __saved more than one life__. And I am grateful for your friendship. We are all grateful for it.'"_

"Am I the only one confused?" Allison said, holding up her hands, "Because to me, that was just a random paragraph out of a book."

"You're not alone." Wesker said, rubbing at his temples.

Barry set the book down, "I'm going to go get Jill, to see if she can make heads or tails of this thing." Standing, he sniffed and left the room. The front door creaked open, then shut tightly.

"Do you have a piece of paper?" Rebecca asked. Allison nodded and fetched one from the cabinet above the sink, grabbing a pen on her way back.

"Here."

"Thanks." Quickly, Rebecca jotted down the words, CHAPTER FORWARD +, _Arthur_, and '_saved more than one life'_. "So, here are our clues."

"Well," Allison took Barry's spot at the table, "Check the next chapter, like the note says."

Wesker reopened the book to the marred page, flipped through the book for a moment, then read aloud, "Chapter 17."

"Seventeen?" Allison said, "But it says XVII."

"Roman numerals." Wesker spoke softly. For being fifteen, she certainly needed to brush up on her numbers.

"Okay, 17." Rebecca said, writing it in notation, along with Roman numerals. She added the plus sign in between Arthur and the number. "The number 17 plus Arthur."

"Wow, 17 plus Arthur, helpful." Allison muttered sarcastically.

"You never know, this may be of –"

THOOM

A loud blast rattled the house. The teenager squeaked and covered her ears. Wesker and Rebecca dove into action, unsheathing their handguns and cocking them.

"Front lawn." Wesker said.

"Sir." Rebecca barked. "Allison, go get Joshua. Get somewhere safe."

Allison shakily nodded and took off.

"Hurry." He ran to the door with Rebecca close at hand. Pressing his back to the wall next to the entrance, he locked eyes with Rebecca and silently agreed. "One, two…three!"

The front door opened and the two S.T.A.R.S. exited, keeping their scrawny formation. Out on the front lawn were the burning remains of the undercover police car. Barry was sprawled on top of Jill, it looking like a last minute attempt to spare the girl of any harm. Both of the Alphas were unconscious, flames licking their way around them.

The wild _zing_ of a bullet missed Rebecca by inches, only because she ducked at the last minute.

"Locate target. Return fire." Wesker commanded, his body kicking into killer mode. A gray Sedan was inching past the smoldering car, with a sleek M-16 propped out of the window. It seemed that they weren't your average street punks…

RATA-TATTA-TATTA-TAT

The M-16 holder fired rapidly and the sound of breaking windows was heard. Judging by the looks of it, the gunman had no idea that they were hiding in the bushes. So, for the moment, they had the upper hand of surprise.

"Don't be seen." Wesker whispered, rolling into the hedges in a ninja-like fashion. Rebecca exited from the other, right side of the porch, falling gracefully behind some rose bushes. She poked her gun through the shrubbery, and although she couldn't get a perfect shot, fired at the automobile. The thick wet smack of a bullet piercing skin was music to her ears.

"Shit!" a person in the car cursed. More of the M-16 rounds were blindly fired off, thankfully, none of them hitting her or the others. The Sedan's tires squealed like a dying rodent and the gunmen were off, firing randomly as they went. The hail of bullets stopped, and suddenly, Rebecca felt light headed.

She attempted to stand, but gravity wouldn't let her, and she found herself plummeting to the ground.

"Rebecca!" Wesker was running at her, shouting her name, but why? It didn't matter; all she wanted to do was take a nap. The dirt felt nice and cool beneath her and as her eyes slipped shut, she failed to notice that she was bleeding from her shoulder.

--

Wesker cursed. He said every curse word he knew as he picked Rebecca up with set trepidation. He barged into the house (he spied a scared Allison and a crying Joshua in the corner) and set the Bravo girl onto the couch.

"Get me-"

"Rag. Antiseptic. Medical stuff. I know." Allison stood on shaky legs, still holding Joshua, and added to Wesker, "There's a hose on the side of the house. Turn it to the right to turn it on."

"Thanks." Wesker complied, leaving the house for the hose. He found it and shakily turned it on. The water happily sprayed, contrary to the way he was feeling. He hosed away the flames that were etching their memories onto the Newman's grass and played the shooting on loop in his head.

When the flames were gone, or at least dying off, Wesker shut the hose off and threw it to the side of the house. He approached his cataleptic team members, looking them over before doing anything. There was a large gash on Jill's forehead, and she was sporting a split lip, whilst Barry had shards of glass jaggedly imbedded into his back and arms.

Sighing, he took out his phone and dialed 911.

The phone rang twice before –_ 911 medical emergency, what seems to be the problem?_

Wesker knew that it was going to be the start of a long day.


	14. Caller ID Would Be Helpful

So…close…

**100 reviews are within my grasp!!**

**Oh my Jesus, I really never thought that it would become this popular.**

**And I really, really want to thank all of you, from the bottom of my heart.**

**((Only a few chapters left!! Oh noes!!))**

Also, I took a line out of the first Resident Evil novel by S.D. Perry. If you can name the line said, and who said it, you get a FREE congrats fic. Just for you, of anything you want, so look long and hard everybody!!

--

"Chris," Leon shook the unresponsive marksman. "Please, do something. You've been sitting here for hours."

"No point." The brunette said blankly, "He'll kill everybody."

"You don't know that. He could be bluffing." The cop smiled, but knew it was for naught. Chris shot him an, 'are you kidding me?' sort of look. He had just…given up. His will to fight had been depleted. Ever since Woods had left, he had just sat down in a corner of the room and waited for the repulsive news of his sister's death.

"Don't worry." Leon sighed, "Everything will be okay."

Chris looked at the kid. He was a true role model, and the epitome of chivalry. Chris opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the crackling of the hidden sound system.

"Redfield."

"Woods." He said instead.

"It's your lucky day." The mafia leader sneered, "Your sister lives, but…"

Leon looked over at Chris, who looked like he was going to have a seizure. First Claire dies, and then she lives, and then…wait…

"But what?" Leon growled.

"But for her to survive, after all, we couldn't just let you off scot-free, three took the fall."

"What?" Chris hissed, standing. His head felt woozy, but he shook it off. "What did you do?"

"Jill, Barry, Rebecca. They took the fall for Claire. Unfortunately, they're not dead, just severely wounded. And we missed you're precious little fag captain." Woods quipped. "But that's okay, he'll be dead by tomorrow. I'll make sure of that personally."

"Captain Wesker will kick your ass!" Leon yelled.

Woods cackled horrifically on the other line. "You sound so sure, but what's one man against a mafia that's lived in the shadow for ages? His takedown will be like Childs play. Just you wait."

"No, you wait." Chris said suddenly, "Wesker will beat you, no matter what."

There was a pause. "You do-gooders make me want to vomit." He gibed. "With your apple pie, red white and blue bullshit. It's all going to end when we ascend to power. _He_ will make sure of it, and then…then you'll all see. We'll make a new order in this town."

"You're a psychopath!" Leon adhered his point with the childish stamp of a foot.

"Yes, but soon to be a rich and powerful psychopath, and then, _Leon_, we can continue our relationship."

"I'm straight! I've never even _liked _you!" The boy screamed.

"But you will. At least, you'll learn to."

"You sick bastard!" Chris shouted, but there was no sarcastic remark this time. It seemed that Woods had ended the audio transmission.

"Bastard," The S.T.A.R.S. member grumbled again, "He won't get away with this, Leon."

Leon shakily smiled, "R-right,"

But as much as he wanted to believe it, deep in his heart, Leon just couldn't.

--

Wesker looked into his cup of hospital coffee, as if it held all of the world's answers. The steam rose up and tickled at his nose with its fine aroma. Taking a sip, he sighed, trying to formulate a game plan for what seemed to be the hundredth time. All of his previous plans, no matter how complete they seemed to be, the killer seemed to be able to sneak it's slimy body around it.

_Maybe the person can read minds?_ Wesker thought, and then chuckled to himself at the ludicrous thought. This case must have been _really_ wearing thin on his rationality. Taking another sip, he placed his drink to a side table and picked up a magazine. He wasn't actually going to read it, he was just going to busy his hands with something to do. Pretty much, it was the only thing that his waning attention span could handle at the moment. His body was still buzzing with adrenaline from the gunfight.

Readjusting his shades, he opened the _Raccoon City Home and Gardens_ issue and glanced briefly at the pictures. A house. A petunia. A bird. His brain was only grasping bits and pieces of what the paragraph and author was talking about, but his sight suddenly froze at a sentence.

"_Samantha Knoss, age 27, has started a petition to try and beautify and repair the slummy areas of Raccoon, which stretch from Panning Square to Arthur Street, and a little past Green Brook Court."_

"Arthur…Street!" he whispered, feeling like a total idiot. "Arthur Street plus…the chapter forward, which was 17…so that would make it 17 Arthur Street! But wait-" the grin that formerly was present on his face faded, Arthur could be right, but…

"Seventeen…isn't a street address." He muttered, deject.

"Excuse me, sir?"

A feminine snapped him from his thinking. He looked up from the magazine to see a blushing, redhead nurse. "Yes?" he asked.

"Um…there's someone on the phone, asking for you." She stuttered.

"Me?" he asked incredulously. He stood, following the skittish nurse. She led him to a crescent working area with woman perched at computers and headsets on.

"Line one." She mumbled, walking away.

Wesker tepidly pushed the button, throwing on a mask of indifference, even though on the inside, he was falling apart. Why did everything always happen to him?

"Hello?"

"_Did you figure out my clues?"_

"Do you stalk me?" Wesker asked seriously, earning bewildered looks from some of the nurses.

"_No, think of it more as…looking out for you."_

"Do you have a name?"

There was a silence on the other line, and Wesker knew that the woman was debating over how much information she should give him, _"Fox." _ She finally said, _"Just, call me Fox."_

"Alright Fox. Anything relevant to add to our case?" Wesker tingled with anticipation. Sure, he was a tad worried if this was a trap or not, but he was too busy contemplating how to weasel accurate and good info out of 'Fox'.

"_The chapter, it's not what you think it is."_ Fox spoke softly, as if she didn't want to be heard.

"Are you hiding?" Wesker said in a low tone, feeling, for some reason, that if she was to whisper, than he was suppost to too.

"That's not important, time is of the essence. I don't know how much longer I'll be aloud to talk to you."

Off handedly, Wesker murmured, "Your voice sounds…familiar."

Fox laughed, _"I get that a lot…oh no. I have to go. Just remember, it's not what you think it-"_

The line cut off Fox's last words as the dial tone sang a mocking song.

--

An hour later, Wesker and Jill were sitting in Rebecca's room, watching her sleep. Barry was being released from having a quick surgery in a few minutes, and until then, the doctor's told the duo that they could wait in where Rebecca was.

Jill had only gotten a minor concussion, but luckily was still able to function just as well as she had before she was knocked out. She had revealed that a gray Sedan (Wesker presumed that it was the same on that shot at them) pulled up to the Newman's driveway and was asking for directions, when passenger pulled out an M-16 and shot at where the car's engine was. Barry had tried to protect her at the last minute, hastily pulling her out of the car and throwing his body over hers, but his weight, combined with hitting the ground at a considerable speed, had knocked her out. With a concussion to boot.

In the meantime, while waiting, Wesker had repeated his phone conversation with 'Fox', to Jill. She seemed perturbed, so the Captain fell quiet, letting all the information sink into the ex-thief's head.

"So," Jill finally said, looking up at her captain, "Not what it seems, hunh?"

"No." he sighed, "So, we're not looking hard enough."

"Not exactly."

"Extrapolate." Wesker folded his arms, waiting.

"Maybe we're looking too hard." Jill hummed, "Like, when you we little, did you ever play hangman?"

"Yes." Wesker admitted sheepishly.

"Remember when you had to guess the word, and you thought and though so hard, but in the end, it turned out to be a simple word, like mother? You'd guess every other seven letter word – shrine, prints, father, skulls – but in the end, it was the simple one that got you." She illuminated.

Wesker thought on that for a minute. She _did _have a point. "So, what would we be looking too hard at?"

"I…I don't know…" she sighed, resting her head in her hands. Just then, the door opened and hospital garbed Barry came in.

"Barry!" Jill smiled. Wesker and he locked eyes, and the captain gave a proud nod.

"So, it takes more than an explosion and a gunman to bring you down?" Wesker said, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"A lot more." Barry said, raising a bicep rich arm and flexing it.

"Glad to hear it." The blonde's expression turned stoic again. Jill pulled Barry off to the side and retold him all of the events that he had missed whilst in surgery. Minutes ticked by and finally Barry coughed, one that was signaling that he was all caught up on what was going on.

"So, what's our plan?" Barry asked.

"Well, I think that Arthur is a street address. It would make sense after all, seeing as though we have to go somewhere to rescue Chris. I still don't understand about the whole, 17 thing and –"

"It's not 17." The three turned to see a fully awake Rebecca. How long she had been like that, none of them could tell.

Jill opened her mouth first, "'Bec-"

"It's not 17." She repeated, "It's 1052, Arthur Street."

--

By the way, the book used in the last chapter, is called _Song of the Sparrow_, written by Lisa Ann Sandell, just incase anyone was wondering –

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	15. Dream a Better Dream

**Over 100! Boom-Shaka-Laka!**

**That's honestly amazing for me, and I love all of you guys.**

**Happy (late) Mother's Day/ Cinco De Mayo!!**

**(By the way, this story is coming true! I just realized that I live two blocks away from an actual 1052, Arthur Street… that, and my father was just talking to me one day, and he was like, "Blah, blah, blah, Showstopper." And my natural reaction was "OMG WTF SAY WHAT NOW?" XD you gotta love that.)**

**ON WITH THE SHOW!!**

**--**

The pieces of the puzzle crashed down upon Wesker like a bad hangover. Of course, Jill was astronomically correct, he was looking too hard. The chapter title read 17, but in Roman Numerals. The X stood for the ten, the V stood for the five, and the two I's stood for the two in the address, making it 1052. Not just any 1052, it would make it 1052, Arthur Street.

"Remind me to give you a raise when this is settled." Wesker said, dead serious. "Now, lets get you two into real clothes and go kick some ass."

Jill smiled, "Chris?"

"As good as ours." But by the term 'ours', Wesker meant all _his_. He was going to unleash a hell storm of bullets into the skull of the unlucky bastard who chose to mess with _his_ Chris.

His Chris.

Wesker liked the ring of that.

The door opened, and a doctor walked into the room, wearing the powdered blue garb, and a surgeon's mask with a blue bandanna. For some reason, this guy was emitting bad omen rays out of all of his pores.

"Hello, doc." Barry greeted, slapping the man on the shoulder. Apparently, he was oblivious to the feeling that Wesker was getting.

"Hello." The doctor responded in a soft tone.

Rebecca was visibly rigid, but nevertheless managed to choke out, "So…when can I be… released?"

The doctor sighed as if he was making a terrible mistake, or a career altering choice. Truth be told, he actually was.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay for a little while longer." He uncovered a Beretta from inside his garb. "You all have to, actually."

"What?" Jill hissed and stood up, the chair she was sitting on toppling over.

"Boss's orders. I truly _am_ sorry, Ms. Valentine." The fraud doctor admitted. "And to all of you. If boss didn't think that you needed to be taken out, then you _could_ have been a valuable asset to the team."

"What team?" Rebecca asked, shaking slightly.

"The new team. The team that's going to rebuild Raccoon City to what it should have been. I'm not going to monologue like a stereotypical villain, but I will tell you this, project Big Bang is going to be downright revolutionary."

Silently, Barry shifted behind the doctor, who paid his movements no mind. With the cunning of a cobra and the strength of an ox, Barry had a hold of the assassin's neck, twisting it till a satisfactory _crack_ sounded. He made a strangled cry as he fell to the floor and moved no more, the gun skittering out of his grasp.

"Assassins. This is like a horribly written horror story." Barry breathed.

"What's next? Ninjas?" Rebecca joked.

"No," Wesker picked up the fallen weapon and thrust it at Barry, "Next is the Boss."

--

Chris bit at his thumb to pass the time. The intercom had long since fell silent, and Leon was taking a nap next to Chris, his head resting on the Alpha member's shoulder. Said Alpha was now beginning to think of Leon not as a cellmate, but more of a little brother figure. And little brothers had to be protected by their big brothers at all costs.

A loud _SKREEE_ jolted Leon awake, and made Chris jump and scowl.

"_Having a nice nap?_"

"Yeah, and you were nowhere in it." Leon shot back.

"_Well, I have a perfect dream coming up for Chris."_

"What the hell is that suppost to mean?" Chris growled. He didn't like being lead around like a prized poodle on a chain.

"_You'll get to see you're captain again."_

"What…?"He really wanted to believe it, but knowing Woods, Chris didn't get his hopes up.

"_My friends here will be with you shortly to escort you to your captain." _ As if on cue, the heavy iron door swung open and hit the wall with a loud _clang!_ It echoed throughout the room. _"Ah, and here they are."_

Chris could have puked at the happy malice that was in Woods's voice. Two huge men, easily twice Chris's weight, with pit bull style faces hunkered in with a stupid look in their eyes. A third man, he was almost Leon's size and build, stepped in with an air surrounding him that made the S.T.A.R.S. member shudder. The smaller man was defiantly Not Good. With capitals.

"_The reason for your release is because of the fact that my little hospital lap dog didn't report as he was suppost to three hours ago. Your little ragtag group has probably up and killed him. You'll both make lovely shields, but, enough small talk. Doctor Kline, you're patients are to be subdued, not killed…at least, not yet."_

"Understood, sir." The doctor said. The intercom clicked off, and Chris was left alone with the mad doctor and his brute assistants.

"Hello." The man said, "I'm Chester Kline. Now, if you two would please stick out your arms, we can do this painlessly."

"And what if we refuse?" Leon shot.

"Then I'll beat you to death." The doctor beamed with wickedness. Leon visibly paled at the thought.

"Bastard." Chris hissed. "Kill me, see what I care."

"If you wish." Doctor Kline shrugged and snapped his fingers, one of the men with him removing a handgun. Chris braced himself for the bullet, but it never came, and soon Leon was on the floor, howling in pain.

"You shot me!" he was screaming hysterically, blood seeping from his shin. "You shot me goddamn it!"

"Leon!" Chris grit his teeth, trying to block out Leon's sobs.

"See?" Kline smiled. "Now, are you going to give me your arm, Christopher? I'm warning you, the next one will be in his brain."

Grudgingly, Chris lifted his arm. Chester Kline meandered over towards the brunette, taking his dear sweet time. Out of his pocket the mad man produced a needle with a yellow serum attached to it. He dusted off a patch of Chris's skin and prepped the needle for injection.

"I better not get AIDS from this." Chris muttered sarcastically.

"You have far greater things to worry about than AIDS." Kline remarked, putting on a slimy smile. In one fowl swoop, the needle was implanted into his arm, and Chris felt as if he had just downed a world's worth of alcohol. His head was spinning and the voices of Leon and the doctor's, and maybe even the other big ox like men, were blurring and blending together like someone had put his hearing on frappe.

The last thing he heard was a horrible sob from Leon, and then everything went black.

--

**Oh noes!**

**In the next chapter…I don't know what will happen!**

**MUHAHA.**

**No seriously, I don't have an ending for this.**

**So, if you think that you have a good ending for this story (I have several buzzing around in my little cranium) please send me a note and I'll consider your idea. But I won't tell you if I accept it, because then you'd leak it and not bother to read the rest.**

**Drop me a note for an ending!  
(It also has to be able to be sequel-able, but don't send me your ideas for that.) **

**Don't forget.**

**REVIEW!!**


	16. Mastermind

**Okay, so I do admit, this is updated fast – really fast. The reason?  
****My 13-year-old attention span can't take NOT updating this thing.  
****Disclaimer is the same as it has been.**

((That, and I really, _really_ want to get to the good parts!!))

P.S. VERY FILLIER ISH DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE FILLERS. ONLY THE ENDING WITH LEON IS IMPORTIANT. REALLY IMPORTIANT.

--

As the car's wheels spun down the ghetto's cracked and torn pavement, Wesker allowed himself some recuperation time. Barry insisted, quite forcefully actually, that he drive, saying something to his captain along the lines of 'you'll work yourself to death'. Despite the fact that Wesker very grudgingly gave up the wheel, he was secretly very thankful to Barry for letting him relax. The past two _months_ without Chris had been hell.

And Wesker had no idea it had been that long until he turned on the radio and it had announced the date. He really was turning into a possessive wreck because of this, and that realization hit him hard. Real hard.

Shutting his eyes under his classic, unreadable shades, Wesker allowed himself a few minutes sleep. He had been rather zombie-ish lately, only operating on four to five hours of rest. Technically, it was only considered napping on the couch, but it was sufficient enough to keep the captain going and that was good enough.

He was enjoying a rather…interesting dream consisting of Chris and himself when Rebecca whispered in his ear, "Captain?"

Wesker, with his arms still folded over his chest took a deep breath and grumbled and unintelligible, "Hunh?"

"What is it with you and Chris?" she asked.

Damn child protégés. Damn them all to hell.

"What are you talking about?" Barry wasn't paying attention, and Jill was sleeping as well. At least if she uncovered anything, Rebecca couldn't tell anyone, thank the lord.

"You know…" she said, as if that was evidence enough.

"Know what?" He was going to play her little game, and was determined to beat her at it.

Finally Rebecca blurted out, "I saw you two kissing at the PSBG."

Wesker coughed loudly, dead set on not letting anyone else hear anything. "It must have been someone else."

"No, I'm pretty sure I could spot you anywhere." Rebecca teased.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult…" Wesker mumbled. The fight against the girl though was fruitless, so Wesker just gave in. "Who else saw…_us_?"

"Nina." She said softly, as if the name was taboo.

"Oh…" He let it drop right there. He didn't think that he could handle it if Rebecca busted into tears, just like how she had done at the botanical garden.

"But, anyhow…" She didn't miss a beat of the conversation, "Why didn't you tell me?"

If Wesker wasn't buckled to the passenger seat, he would have turned around and shot her an incredulous look. "Why didn't I tell you? Hmm…Let us see…well, there's homophobes, I could lose my job, my reputation could be ruined, both our safeties could be endanger…So, I don't know Rebecca, why _didn't _I tell you?"

"I always knew it." Jill muttered, waking up.

"God damn it." Wesker could have slapped himself.

"Even though you don't flaunt it, you still sort of act it." Barry input.

"When the _hell_ were you involved in this conversation? Either of you two?" The captain snapped, no longer having to lower his voice. "My sexuality has nothing relevant to do with this very moment."

"So are you gay, or just bisexual?" Jill asked.

"I think he's just gay." Rebecca said, both the girls paying no mind to the man ahead of them. If laser vision were a superpower, then Wesker would have used it to melt their heads – Rebecca was totally losing her raise too.

"Are you kidding me? He's bisexual, aren't ya'?" Barry smirked.

"For the love of Christ! I'm firing all of you when this is over…" Wesker threatened.

"You and Chris have to invite me to the wedding!" Rebecca beamed. Jill spluttered. Barry almost lost control of the car.

"CHRIS?!" They both shouted.

"He's gay?" Screamed Jill.

"You two are…" Barry let the sentence hang.

"So, it's harder to believe that Chris is gay, rather than me. And there isn't going to _be_ a wedding. There might not even _be_ a _tomorrow_ for anyofus_!_" Wesker growled.

"Way to put a damper on the mood." The teen rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, Captain." Barry whispered. "It's just a little hard to believe that my best friend is _gay_."

"Well, that saved me the trouble of finding out." Jill shrugged. "I was going to ask him out, but then something didn't feel right, plus I had always thought that he was sort of gay."

"A girl's gaydar never fails." Rebecca and Jill highfived.

"Barry, are you gay?" The Bravo asked.

"I'm married!" He shouted indignantly, "With children!"

"Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot. Sorry!" She itched the back of her head and suddenly frowned.

"What?" Jill took notice of the sudden change of pace.

Wesker though had that covered, "We're here."

--

Leon had woken up almost fifteen minutes ago, but Chris was still sound asleep, his head drooping into his lap. They both were tied to a large cement support beam with an iron chain. The room they were in had shelves lining the whole length of the wall that Leon was staring at. On the shelves were jars varying in size and colors, but Leon could only make out certain words on them: things like herb, sooth, and essence. So were they in an apothecary? It certainly seemed like so.

"Chris!" Is what Leon _meant _to say, but it came out more like "_Chuuuuuuurssssss…"_

Leon shook his head, trying again to right his words, but they came out slurred and messy, as if he was drunk. His lower left leg throbbed like someone had shot him…oh wait, someone _did_ shoot him. Perfect, just perfect. On top of that, Leon was now left with an unconscious Chris, unsure of what to do.

One thing came to mind, and it would end up with one of three things. One, he could attract attention for help. Two, he could wake up Chris with it. Three, he could more than likely wind up getting himself killed with it.

Oh well, it was worth a shot.

Opening up his mouth, Leon let out the loudest and shrillest scream he could, like from when he was a child, and thrashed wildly in his bindings. He screamed for all of the horrible things that had happened to him and for all of the pain that Chris was going through. He screamed over the pain in his leg, and for the pain in the hearts of all the people that had been affected by this murderer. He screamed for the fallen. He hoped that everyone had heard him: Woods, his boss, Chris, and anyone else that would listen.

Finally, his voice worn and cracked, fell silent.

But it was enough. Outside of the property, little did Leon know, Captain Albert Wesker and his S.T.A.R.S. operatives heard him. Unfortunately, along with Wesker, someone else far dastardlier than Woods had heard him – his boss – the horrible man that had been secretly pulling the strings _behind_ Colin Woods.

Brian Irons.

--

BETCHA DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING!!

Review!!

8D

**Do I seem to overzealous to you guys with my updating-ness?  
Please answer honestly if you think that my speedy updates are just a joke.**


	17. Bitter

A/N: I was hit with the hardest bout of writers block in my life, so I took the time to buy some more zombie books, and to immerse myself back in the fandom. By the way, the book _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ is an _awesome_ read, filled with gory illustrations and impeccable detail. And ninjas.

So… without further ado…

**--**

Brian Irons had been a simple man.

He liked his coffee black. He liked to read the Sunday paper and do the crosswords. He even liked to go fishing with his nephew every once and awhile. He had a life that was worth living and a job that was worth getting up for every morning.

But the key word here was _had_.

He _had_ all of these things until the mayor of Raccoon City, Timothy Harris, had _robbed_ him of all of this; his simple pleasures, his simple life. All of this was gone. He and Harris had been friends for a while, actually, but then Harris proved himself to be a politician. He was always working, trying to campaign for the position of mayor. But so had Irons. He too desired the power that came with the title of mayor, but for all the wrong reasons.

Harris had ended up winning the election, and everyone since then, starting from back in 1986. But now though, that backstabbing, two-faced, lying, dream crushing, _bastard_ was going to pay, along with anyone else who had ever, _dare _question his authority throughout his life.

There would be blood.

That was a promise that Irons intended to keep – starting with Christopher Redfield.

--

The tension around the abandoned apothecary was easily shattered by a horrible, pained scream. The sound faded soon enough, shrouding the area with a macabre sort of feel. Goosebumps traveled up Rebecca's arms, and she shivered, her lips trembling. But she knew that Chris was on the other side, and thus, she had to put on her big girl panties and deal with it.

"Who was that…?" Jill murmured, the hair on the back of her neck erect.

"That wasn't Chris," Barry said surely, "Someone else is trapped in there."

Wesker reached at the door, twisting the knob. Locked. Surprise, surprise. "Remember the briefcase?" he said suddenly.

"Yeah?" Jill was quick to respond.

"There was a key in there, does anyone have it?"

"I do." Rebecca reached a hand up to her neck and slid a ribbon off, the key dangling from it. "Just so I wouldn't loose it."

"Good thinking." Jill murmured.

Wesker took it and jammed it into the door. He turned it, but it wouldn't budge. Trying again, he proceeded with the same results. Flipping the key, he tried a third time. He twisted it the _opposite _way – nothing. Nothing was happening. "God damn it!"

"Here, let me try." Good ole' Barry stepped up to the door with a surefire look set in his eyes. He glanced at the door and then _threw_ his entire weight at the door, starting with his shoulder. The metal hinges shook with protest, but undeterred, Barry rammed at it again. With one final blow, the door splintered and was violently ripped off its hinges.

The older S.T.A.R.S. member bent down with his hands on his knees, panting for air. "I'll be good," he said, waving off Rebecca as she came, "Just…took a lot more out of me than I thought."

Wesker nodded, "Sit tight."

"Go on ahead without me." He panted. Jill opened her mouth to protest, but Barry then quickly said, "It's just an old store. It's not like we're in a warehouse or halfway across the city. If I yell, you can hear me. Plus, I _think_ I can hold my own in a fight." Barry flexed a bicep, with a grin, to prove his point.

"You sure?" Rebecca asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Positive. Now go on, Chris is waiting."

Wesker and Jill strode off, and Rebecca gave one more backwards glance before parting with Barry. She unveiled a flashlight from her belt. Though the sun was peeking out from behind a patch of clouds, it was rather dark and dank in the store. It was as if it hadn't had life in it in…well, forever. Clicking on her light, she waved it steadily around, pointing in nervously from the floor to the ceiling, and then back to the floor.

"Rebecca!" Jill hissed at her. "Come on!"

Shaking her head, Rebecca called back, "Yeah, coming." The young Bravo member, however, couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so _very_ wrong. Rebecca surveyed the floor one more time. She turned to leave and catch up to Jill, thinking to herself –

-she jumped as something skittered across the floor. Frantically waving the flashlight, Rebecca tried to calm her breathing, succeeding after a few shallow breaths. "It's just a store, it's just a store." She said the mantra to herself quietly. "It's only a store."

She looked over the shelves one more time, cringing at the collected dust and grime on the jars. "It's only a store, Rebecca." She repeated.

"Yeah." Satisfied, she made a move to turn around-

"It's only a-"

-and walked right into a dead body.

--

Sorry it's short in comparison to the other chapters, but I needed to get this out there to make sure that you guys didn't think that I turned into a zombie as well! Lol – **SlouchyTyger, are we still on for co-writing?**


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